


Empiricist

by Accipitae



Series: Lemniscate [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1930s Slang, Amnesia, Angst, Asexual Tom Riddle, Bombs, Canon Rewrite, Child Abuse, Cockney Tom Riddle, Codependency, Disassociation, ESHG (emotional support Hermione Granger), Eating Disorders, Exorcisms, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcruxes, House Elves, Illustrated, Jealousy, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mental Health Issues, Necromancy, Nightmares, No character bashing, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Old Gods, POV Tom Riddle, Parseltongue, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Harry Potter, Protective Tom Riddle, Reincarnation, Revolutionary themes, Sane Tom Riddle, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Self-Harm, Sibling Love, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Sort Of, The author is very bad at accents. I’m so sorry, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Tom Riddle's Diary, Tom Riddle-centric, Tom doesn’t remember being Voldemort, Tom is reborn as Harry’s twin, Tom’s a bad influence, Unreliable Narrator, World War II, Worldbuilding, Yiddish, Young Tom Riddle, cockney Harry Potter, for someone obsessed with immortality and his own survival Tom has zero concept of self care, grey morality, he’s not insane he just wants to watch the world burn, sentient horcruxes, simultaneously a genius and a dumbass, some of these tags have yet to come into play, though Tom doesn’t think very highly of most people. then again he’s biased
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accipitae/pseuds/Accipitae
Summary: “Let’s try this again, hmm? Me and you.”This time, Harry had Tom, and Tom had Harry. It makes all the difference.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Lemniscate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204070
Comments: 66
Kudos: 179





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Diablerie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16697380) by [Oceanbreeze7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/pseuds/Oceanbreeze7). 



> Empiricist: relating to or characteristic of the theory that all knowledge is based on experience derived from the senses.
> 
> Occam shave me down to primal truth  
> Return me to the womb  
> The spirit held a magic flask  
> Said, "Drink it to forget the past  
> But careful it's a poison batch  
> Each drop more painful than the last  
> If you fail you'll wish for death  
> If you finish: you'll be free at last.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle is given a second chance. It’s not going much better than it did the first time around.  
> At least this time he has Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for child abuse, brief mention of the Holocaust, and my poor attempts at a cockney accent. I apologize in advance.

Kings Cross was white and blinding as always. Every time he came here, it felt like looking directly into the sun, like starting again new. This time, like all times but the first, he was alone. 

Well, not quite, but certainly no one else around to hold a conversation with. The infant under the bench certainly wasn’t going to provide any riveting banter. At least not yet.

The man bent down to look at the child laying on the cold white floor and grinned. “Hello again, my old friend.”

The baby made a soft _hrmph_ in response. It was tiny, and not quite formed right, like it’d been born too early. It’s limbs were thin and the face lacked the typical baby fat on most newborns, but it was definitely a baby, and looked far healthier and far more human the first time he had seen it.

“We’re almost there.” He told the child as he gently scooped it up and wrapped it in a shimmering silver-black cloak. The baby made a slight fuss, but refused to cry. He’d never cried any of the times the man had come here, which part of him felt was odd, but knowing the baby, he supposed it made sense.

Thin stubby fingers unfolded from clenched fists and waved out to grab at the man’s bangs. “None of that now.” He told the boy. “I think it’s about time you left this place.”

The child gave him a gummy smile in return, his face slightly fuller than it’d been when he was first picked up.

The man stepped away from the bench and made his way toward the loading platform. On his right was a white train, pale as everything else in this in between word. A train as inevitable and as constant as the station itself. It had always been there sitting and waiting for him every time the man had come to this place. This visit was no different.

The man nodded in greeting to the train. It softly puffed steam in response, ready to depart at his convenience. He had no intention of boarding that train. Not this time.

Instead he made his way toward the empty platform on his left. It didn’t remain empty for long. A scarlet red train pulled to a stop with a loud hiss and the carriage doors slid open as if by magic.

The train was as beautiful as it had ever been. It felt like home.

The man looked down at a pair of eyes so dark they were almost black and smiled. “Let’s try this again, hmm? You and me.”

With that, Harry Potter boarded the train, a tiny Tom Riddle in his arms. Steam plumed from the engine as it began its journey out of the in-between world and back to the beginning.

* * *

It was Halloween, 1981, and in a nursery on the second floor of a cottage in Godrick’s Hollow, there were two children, not one.

One boy was Harry James Potter, a happy smiling baby with curly black hair and the brightest green eyes.

The other was Henry Thomas Potter, older by quarter of an hour and far quieter and more somber than the other child. The elder’s hair was tamer than his brother, soft waves rather than an unmanageable mess. His eyes were unnervingly intelligent and deep dark brown that looked nearly black unless looking right up close to his small face.

The boys were cribbed together, though two cribs sat in the nursery providing each child a bed of their own. The second was rarely used. The brothers hated to be apart, and would usually cry and fuss when put to bed away from the other.

That would be how the Dark Lord found them, sitting together in a single crib, both boys watching silently as their mother was struck dead with a bolt of green light.

Then, the dark shape turned on the children.

A wand of bone white wood was pointed between eyes the color of a killing curse and two fateful words were spoken.

And like in another world so similar to this, the curse was rebound back, and a war ended with the cry of a baby and the making of a lightning scar.

But this time, there was another pair of eyes to witness, and this would make all the difference.

* * *

There were sirens wailing around him. It was all he could hear. Just the constant drone of the sirens. Felt phantom blood dripping down his cheekbones onto his neck, the ever screaming sirens bursting his eardrums but never letting him go deaf.

Their wailing kept him up. Jolted him awake every time they started up screaming with nonexistent lungs. He wished they’d just shut up already.

But the sound of sirens drowned out the boom of exploding planes and bombs dropping and people screaming as they died.

Helped him from hearing the rick-tick-tick of guns or the splintering of wood and brick as another house collapsed. 

It drowned out the thundering of his own heartbeat, even if he felt every pulse in his neck. 

His hands shook as he hid in the basement of the orphanage, dirt under him and wood over him. Like a casket. Like a tomb.

There was a travel trunk next to him. It was beaten and worn and locked tight with a heavy metal padlock that held no keyhole.

In his hand was clenched a whittled bone, or maybe a bleached piece of driftwood. It was so white it seemed to glow in the dark of the basement and he held it like it was a lifeline and not a simple stick.

The building shook with an explosion and dirt and dust rained down on him and Tom Riddle prayed to a god he didn’t believe in.

There was another explosion, but this time the wood above his head snapped and the orphanage came crashing down on top of him and he thought _this is how I die._

He closed his eyes and mouthed a prayer and begged.

_Please, I don’t want to die._

Tom woke with a scream in his throat. His lips clamped down tight to keep it inside, lest he wake his relatives and bring their wrath down upon his head.

Silent sobs wracked his body and slim arms wrapped around himself in a bid of self soothing as he tried to overcome the terror of his head.

A second pair of arms joined his. Harry wrapped himself around Tom and offered what comfort he could.

The boy asked no questions, but accepted that horrible things could be found behind Tom’s eyes. That sometimes they woke him up screaming.

Two little boys rocked back and forth inside a cramped little cupboard under the stairs. Little fingers ran themselves through Tom’s hair, and a tiny little voice began to hum a soft lullaby. It was quiet enough that no one past the cupboard door could hear a peep, but to Tom it was louder than the echo of the bombs in his nightmares.

Slowly his shaking stopped and he untangled himself from his little brother.

“Were it the bombs again?” Harry whispered barely above silence.

Tom nodded in response. “I was in the basement.” He said in just as softly a voice. “It collapsed on top o’ me.”

Harry pulled Tom into another hug, his shaggy head of black hair pressed against the other boy’s chest.

“Yer’re ‘ere.” He murmured over Tom’s heart. “Yer’re ‘ere wiv me and yer’re alive. That’s all tha ma’ers.”

Tom’s own bony arms made their way around Harry to return the hug. “I’m ‘ere.” He murmured. “Im’ere an I ain’ leavin’.”

His fingers pulled at the cotton of Harry’s oversized tee shirt. “Not ever.” He promised.

* * *

Tom hated the cupboard. It was small and cramped and dusty, leaving him to sneeze his nose raw. The walls pressed in on him and crushed down like the coils of a snake ready to swallow him whole. The dark and isolation were comforting, but the tightness of the space terrified him. It reminded him of freezing nights and the smell of soot, of dark ground and shaking walls and great bellows of explosions. It reminded him of nightmares barely remembered and being eaten alive.

But the cupboard was where he lived, and he would have to swallow down his fear and bear it, for his brother’s sake.

Because the cupboard wasn’t Tom’s alone. He shared it with Little Harry.

Little Harry, who found comfort in the small space. Who cuddled close to his brother and pretended they were foxes in a den. Who made friends with the spiders and dust bunnies and made the whole living arrangement bearable. Little Harry who learned his name from Tom and learned to talk from Tom. Harry who shared Tom’s horrid cockney accent that no one could explan for the origin of.

Harry who soothed him through nightmares and clamped his hand over Tom’s mouth to keep him from screaming even if it meant Harry got bit by Tom’s crooked teeth in response.

Harry who told jokes and made Tom smile and always made sure to wish him happy birthday on July 31st even if the date didn’t feel quite right.

Tom was pretty sure he could live anywhere as long as Harry was with him.

But even bright brilliant Harry couldn’t stop Tom’s distaste for their situation. The cupboard was horrible and tiny and being locked in every night made Tom’s skin crawl. Outside wasn’t much better, as it consisted of chores and bruises and being yelled at for his freakishness by the Relatives (he refused to acknowledge them by name, even in his own head). At least Tom’s freakishness far outweighed Harry’s, so he was spared their ire more often than not. If it meant Tom usually fell asleep with arms painted green and blue and Harry’s stayed clear, well, he was more than willing to bear it.

Tom wasn’t all that convinced they were related to the Dursleys. He didn’t think either of them were anything like the horrid people who claimed to be their aunt and uncle, and their cousin was far too stupid to be a blood relation. Though, there was little doubt that the Cousin was the progeny of the Uncle, so the boy couldn’t be adopted.

Tom wondered if maybe someone had made a mistake then he and Harry were left at the Dursleys. They looked nothing like the family, acted nothing like the family. And the Relatives _hated_ them. Tom was no expert on families, but he was pretty sure most aunts and uncles didn’t loathe their nephews like the Dursleys did.

Tom supposed they could be related to the Aunt. She was thin and bony enough to look like them, though she didn’t have anyone willfully starving her. Tom imagined he and Harry would be far less skinny if they got regular meals.

According to the Aunt, she was their mother’s sister. Tom thought she might be lying. He didn’t really remember their mother aside from red hair and soft smiles and gentle touches (and green green light), but he was pretty sure she wasn’t anything like the Aunt with her sharp angles and sharper words. He didn’t imagine their mother as anything like the shrill, fretful, awful woman that was their Aunt. 

The Relatives were cruel and vindictive (like Tom) but clumsy and obvious in their nastiness. Tom at least had the talent to be subtle about things. Harry though, didn’t have an awful bone in his body (as sharp and jutting as they were. Tom should know, he felt as if he could see ever one through Harry’s skin). No, Harry was pure sunshine in Tom’s opinion. The kindest, goodest, most pure person to ever live. Certainly more deserving than the Relatives, or even Tom himself. (Especially Tom himself.)

Both boys were also more creative than the whole lot of them, and certainly not fretful. Well, maybe Tom fretted a little when Harry got knocked down by the Cousin, or tore up his hands pulling weeds, or burned himself on the stove. But unlike the Aunt who just tittered away not really doing anything but making a nuisance of herself, Tom actually made himself useful. It was something he was very good at, being useful.

Of course there was cooking and cleaning and chores and the like, but that was less being useful and more doing what it took to survive the Relatives.

No, Tom’s real use was protecting Harry. He was good at taking the blame for things, making sure the Uncle’s punishments would land on him and not Little Harry with his thin brittle bones. He was good at distracting the Cousin and his pack of rabid boy children he called friends. Good at getting them away from Harry, and good at making them regret attacking the two in the first place. Unfortunately, Tom quickly learned that getting revenge on the bullies was often more trouble than it was worth. It always got back to the Aunt and the Uncle, and there was always punishment when that happened. Punishment that usually involved Harry, which was unexceptable. 

So Tom got good at running. It wasn’t as satisfying as terrorizing the bullies in return, but it was what he could get away with. Besides, he could always satisfy himself with plans for how to maim the Cousin once he could get away with it.

He’d briefly considered burning the house down with all the Relatives inside it (a rather troubling thought for a five year old to have), but he realized that if the Relatives were dead, he had no idea where he and Harry would go, and he did not like the uncertainty. They might starve to death on the street, or they might go to an _orphanage_ . He wasn’t even entirely sure what an orphanage was, but something in him told it was _not a good place._ He’d learned to always trust his instincts. They were rarely wrong.

That was another thing Tom was good at, planning. He actually bothered to think things through before he did them unlike most children. The Aunt and Uncle thought it was unnatural, but they thought most everything about Tom and Harry was unnatural, so he didn’t put much stock in what they thought.

He did eventually learn that other people thought Tom unnatural too when he and Harry were allowed to attend primary school. They thought he was far too intelligent and perceptive for a five year old, and it made them nervous. Tom didn’t particularly care.

Primary school was interesting. The boys learned all sorts of things there. Well, Harry learned things. Tom learned that he already knew lots of things, though it felt less like already knowing and more like remembering, but either way it made lessons very easy.

Something he did learn was that his name was Henry, not Tom, but Henry didn’t feel right while Tom felt, well not _better_ but less foreign to him. The teachers allowed it because his middle name was Thomas. Tom didn’t much understand the point of having two names, or why it was important which one came first and why it dictated which one people called you, but he did learn that he was Henry Thomas Potter and his brother was Harry James Potter and that was new information so he supposed it was alright he didn’t understand the mysteries of multiple names just yet.

He already knew Harry’s name was Harry, but it was nice to have it confirmed. The extra names seemed a bit excessive when just Harry would do. Just Harry agreed and thought that having several names was silly, so they agreed to call themselves Harry and Tom and nothing else.

Thinking about it, Tom wasn’t really sure how he knew either of their names, as the Relatives never called them anything but Freak and Boy. He assumed it was maybe a memory from when his mum and dad were alive, since he could remember them better than Harry (green light, red hair, screaming, anger, why why why what happened how why Harry _HARRY_ ).

Harry couldn’t remember anything, so Tom remembered for the two of them, even if he didn’t like telling his brother about it because it made Harry sad and not at all because it made him sad too. No, not at all.

While Tom did not like the cupboard and did not like the Relatives, he did like school.

For the most part.

The teachers were boring and stupid and didn’t notice anything, would probably lose their nose if it wasn’t attached to their faces, and the other students were loud and annoying and disliked him and Harry because the Cousin had spread rumors about them (only most of them false) so the other children either ignored the brothers or antagonized him.

But at school there were no chores, and there were books, both of which Tom liked a lot. Reading was one of those learned-but-really-remembered things and Tom was _good_ at it. He loved reading. Could eat up whole books in one sitting. And not just small childish books with small words and big font.

He could read the grown up books, the ones with big words and small font that made his teachers call him words like ‘genius’ and ‘protege’.

Harry wasn’t very good with reading, but that was more because he couldn’t see the words very well rather than him being stupid. Tom made the habit of reading to Harry so he wouldn’t have to squint at the pages all the time.

Unfortunately the Relatives didn’t take too kindly to Tom and Harry being more intelligent than their precious son. Not like being smarter than the baby beached whale was very hard.

Harry wanted to play dumb and botch their grades so the Relatived wouldn’t be so mad. Tom thought that was stupid and self sabotaging, but after the Uncle grabbed Harry hard enough to wretch his shoulder from socket and Tom had to stop himself from disemboweling the man then and there, he agreed it may be in their best interests. “ _Besides_ ,” he’d tell Harry later in the cupboard after shoving his shoulder back where it was supposed to go and wishing the pain away for him, _“messing daft just proves that we’re even_ **_more_ ** _clever. Yer 'ave ter be right keen ter do it right.”_

So they purposefully answered wrong on worksheets and refused to answer questions in class and all the while studied and learned on their own so they could become the smartest boys to ever live.

Smart enough that they wouldn’t have to live with the Relatives anymore. They could run away and be on their own and not have to live in a dusty cupboard and cook all the meals that they only got to eat the scraps of and pretend to be idiots.

But first Tom had to make sure he was smart enough that they wouldn’t die or get thrown in an orphanage, hence why he’d yet to commit arson-slash-homicide.

So thus far his master plan was to learn a way to make money. He’d heard the Uncle complain enough about money and mortgage and costs to know that money was a very important thing, and he doubted there was a way for two orphan boys to live without it.

The problem was finding a way to make money when being said orphan boys. There weren’t very many job opportunities available to five year olds sadly. Not since child labor laws were put in place.

So Tom either had to be very sneaky and find a job that did not require him to disclose his age, or wait until he was old enough to actually get a job. Likely a bit of both. It certainly put a damper on things, but Tom was patient. He could wait.

He just had to make sure Harry could too.

Which led to Tom’s other master plan (though it was less of a plan and more of a goal).

Protect Harry no matter what.

It was proving far more complicated than one might think. Harry was disaster prone, and as the smaller and meeker of the two, tended to be the target of harassment more often than not.

Tom knew if it was just him he could terrorize the other children and even the adults into submission, damn the consequences. But he had Harry to think about. Unfortunately that meant he couldn’t do anything rash else he end up in prison or an asylum, because then who would protect Harry? 

Instead of the Protect Harry plan consisting of Tom just bite-killing all the threats like the snakes he spoke to suggested, it was far more involved and taxing. It meant making slightly higher grades to draw the Relatives attention away from Harry, and blaming himself for any mistakes made with cooking or cleaning so Harry wouldn’t get the punishment. There was an added level of difficulty in doing it in a way that Harry wouldn’t notice so he wouldn’t feel guilty. Tom was only somewhat successful with that.

The Protect Harry plan also meant making sure his brother got the lion's share of food and water and clothing and everything else. Tom could deal with hunger. He could handle the cold better than his little brother. He was older and stronger and those almost thoughts in the back of his mind that told him his name was Tom also told him he’d survived much worse than an empty stomach. So what if he found himself leaching life out of plants and spiders and lizards and things, leaving their bodies empty dried husks but his stomach almost something that could be considered full. It meant Harry got that much more supper. As long as the Relatives didn’t find out about it and punish him for more of his freakishness and Harry didn’t find out and cry about Tom killing little animals, it would be fine.

Besides, animals killed each other all the time. Tom was just making sure he survived. What was a few lizards and frogs to that? Tom had decided a long time ago he would be at the top of the food chain. Sometimes that meant eating things weaker than you.

That’s just nature after all.

* * *

Tom was in the front garden digging holes to plant the Aunt’s new flowers. She bought new flowers every spring, the color and kind changing each time. Had to be up with the trends, she insisted. Tom thought it was stupid. He thought it was even stupider that he was the one who had to plant the damn things, and not the bint who bought them. Alas, he was the one tasked with digging holes and planting flowers.

On the plus side, it gave him a chance to leach the energy out of the old plants, and maybe even one or two of the new ones. Not all the flowers will survive the transfer, he had told her. The Aunt had been cross, but she believed him as she wasn’t an avid gardener herself, it didn’t much understand how plants worked.

Tom looked over the collection of white and yellow flowers. He quickly picked out the sickliest of the bunch, and touched the stem with a thin finger. He focused on the hunger in his stomach, the weakness in his limbs. He imagined a rush of energy. The feeling of eating until he was full. 

Slowly, the plant began to wilt. It shriveled up until it was a dried dead husk, and Tom had a burst of energy.

It didn’t do anything for his empty stomach or the cramps that came with it, but it would keep him going.

He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Instead he’d made sure Harry ate everything they were given for breakfast, with the lie that he’d already eaten before cooking the eggs. It was getting harder and harder to convince Harry of his lies. His brother hadn’t believed him, insisted they share, like always. But Tom was an immovable object to Harry’s unstoppable force. He could outstubborn his brother any day, so in the end Tom had won the argument (as he often did) and Harry got breakfast all to himself.

It was a sacrifice Tom was more than willing to make.

After all, Harry wasn’t able to steal energy like Tom could. He didn’t need to eat as often as his brother. He could make do without.

He’d never tell Harry, but his brother’s thinness terrified him. He looked at Harry’s narrow wrists and protruding collar bones and the slight curve of his ribs and all he could see were corpses. He’d close his eyes and instead of Harry, his mind would show him starving orphans and grotesque bodies clinging to a seaside cave and the black and white living dead of the camps. He’d taste acid in his mouth and be reminded of nightmares that he knew weren’t really nightmares but he had no other name for and he’d fear his brother would one day become a corpse like in his not-memories.

So Tom made Harry eat first and most, because Tom was pretty sure he was already undead, but Harry was very much living and the living needed to grow.

Tom disposed of the shriveled husk and set to work on planting the remaining flowers. He was about halfway done when his brother settled down beside him. Harry didn’t say anything as he began to help him take the flowers out of their little plastic pots and settle them into the ground.

The two worked in silence until all the flowers were planted. The chore done,

Tom went through his mental checklist. Harry had already finished the weeding, the flowers were planted, it would be a few more days before the lawns needed to be mowed. That just left watering everything.

He went to the side of the house and unspooled the garden hose while Harry disposed of the plastic pots the flowers had come in. The hose was long and unwieldy in his small hands. It made it difficult to untangle it and get the length straightened out enough to pull it to the flower beds, but finally Tom managed it.

By that point Harry had finished tossing the pots in the rubbish bin. The younger ran to the tap and turned on the water. Cool droplets sprayed against Tom’s exposed skin. He shoved the hose toward Harry, but his brother just pushed it back. “Yer first.”

Tom thought about arguing, but giving in to Harry every once in a while made him more manageable. He lifted the hose to his mouth and took a long drink. The water was cold. Refreshing. It made Tom realize just how dehydrated he had gotten.

Once the thirst was no longer a nagging distraction to him, Tom handed over the hose and let Harry drink his turn.

The other boy chugged greedily. Water spilled down his front and soaked his shirt, but Harry didn’t seem to care. It would cool him down. The summers seemed to get hotter every year. Didn’t help that the Aunt gave them more things to do each year, so they spent longer and longer under the midday sun.

Done with his drink, Harry redirected the stream to the plants. They took turns spraying the different foliage until everything had been adequately drenched.

Now finished with outdoor chores, the boy took turns hosing the dirt and grass of each other. Then they returned the hose to its place, grabbed a pair of faded torn towels from the garden shed, and dried themselves as best they could. Tom knew reentering the house either dirty or wet would get the pair of them punished.

Back inside, the Aunt tasked ‘Freak’ with mopping the kitchen and ‘Boy’ with dusting every surface he could reach.

Tom set to work filling a bucket with water and soap while Harry went about collecting the rags for dusting. 

Cleaning the house took up the rest of their afternoon, but thankfully the Aunt was busy gossiping at a neighbor’s house, the Uncle was off at work, and the Cousin had been invited to spend the day at a friend’s granparent’s home in the country, leaving Harry and Tom alone for the day. Tom absently wondered what having grandparents would be like. _We’d probably have shit grandparents,_ he mused while vacuuming. Knowing their luck, any grandparents they got would have been even worse than the Relatives. Tom knew most grandparents were supposed to dote on and spoil their grandchildren, but to Tom’s not-memory ‘grandfather’ was a sour word. It made him angry and bitter, though not as mad as ‘father’ did. For whatever reason when he thought of fathers, he just wanted to set things on fire. Mothers just made him sad.

Harry was fascinated by their parents, always begging for scraps of information from the Relatives. His little brother had gotten good at tricking the Aunt into sharing facts about their Mum and Dad. His clever inquiries had revealed that their Mum’s name was Lily and she was a stuck up know it all who got to go to a special school that the Aunt was most certainly not jealous of, no sir. 

It was at the special know it all school that Ms Perfect Lily met good for nothing drunkard layabout James Potter and the two were just made for each other. They got married and had two awful ungrateful children whom she’d taken in out of the goodness of her heart when good for nothing James Potter got himself and his wife killed driving drunk on Halloween. Tom was infinitely pleased to learn that the Aunt was jealous of his mother, and that his mum was likely leagues more intelligent. How else would she have gotten into a special school? It wouldn’t have been a school for mad people, or else the Aunt wouldn’t be jealous.

While he wouldn’t be very surprised if James Potter really was a layabout drunk, given what Tom knew of fathers, the insults the Aunt had thrown around were a lot broader than the ones about their mother. It implied a lack of familiarity. He assumed she didn’t really know much about his dad so she just made things up to make herself feel superior. The Aunt was very good at that sort of thing.

Harry had been upset to hear their father was a drunk bum, so that night in their cupboard Tom had shared his theory. It had cheered his brother right up. They spent the night speculating what kind of person James Potter could have been. Likely someone very different from Vernon Dursley, given how much Aunt Petunia hated him, Harry had mused.

They’d come up with all sorts of wild ideas about what their father could have done to make the Aunt hate him so. Obviously their mum was hated because she was the Aunt’s sister, but Mum had been better at everything than the Aunt, and far prettier and had much more intelligent children. _And she didn’t marry a walrus_ Harry had laughed. 

Tom had speculated maybe their dad was a freak like them, and that was why the Aunt hated him (and in extension them) so much. That had led to all sorts of other theory making about what made them so different, and why they could understand snakes and speak in their own secret language and make things move with their thoughts or heal bruises or turn a teacher’s wig blue.

 _Maybe we’re fey children, right?_ Tom had decided. _Changelings._

Once done with the mopping and dusting, they were free to do what they liked for the rest of the evening. They decided to walk to the library. The brothers spent the rest of their day browsing the books and reading at their leisure. Tom would help Harry understand unfamiliar words and concepts. Thankfully there was no need to read for him anymore after the Aunt finally bought him a pair of old glasses. They weren’t the right prescription, but they at least allowed Harry to make out the words.

They returned to Number a four before nightfall, and were given a small supper of bread and cheese and sent to the cupboard.

That night, after the Relatives had gone to sleep, Tom closed his eyes and wished for fairy lights. Small pinpricks of white and yellow appeared. They were dim, but enough to see by. Tom watched his brother grin at the dancing lights. With Harry distracted he quietly pulled out his ratty backpack and removed the gift from inside.

“Happy birfday ’Arry.” Tom said while holding out a book of fairytales he’d stolen from the library.

Harry took the book with trembling hands. His wide green eyes filled with tears and Tom felt himself panic until the smaller boy wrapped him up in a tight hug.

“Thank you.” He whispered against Tom’s neck. “I go’ sumfink for yer too.” 

Harry handed over a book of his own. It was smaller and made of leather. Tom took it with gentle hands and flipped through the pages to see they were empty.

It was a journal.

“Happy birfday Tom.”

Tom grinned at his brother. His smiles were rare, genuine ones even rarer. He reserved them only for Harry. His smile said everything he needed to say. _Thank you and I love you and I’d kill for you and I’d die for you._

“I love it.”

And he did. He really really did. It was the best birthday either of them had ever had. After all, it’s not every day you turn ten years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, snake friends, a half giant half remembered, and Tom once again knows more than he should.
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. I haven’t posted fic in over two years, so any encouragement will be a great help. I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things, but I know there will be hiccups along the way. Not sure how regularly I’ll be able to update, though for now I have enough motivation to get the next chapter out in a few days.
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by Oceanbreeze7’s story Diablerie. That story both gave me the motivation to start writing again, and really helped me get an idea for Tom’s character and backstory. It also introduced me to cockney!Tom, possibly my favorite headcanon in existence (even if I’m starting to regret having to write it now, oops).
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://ezra-millers-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) or check out my [fandom artblog](https://carlistyl.tumblr.com/)


	2. Sowing Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom contemplated murder, the seasons, and what it means to be a twin. Also the Dursley’s get mail. Lots of mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bits of dialogue were taken directly from my 1999 copy of Philosopher’s Stone (which I may or may not have stolen from the school library as a kid). This chapter is probably going to be the closest I stay to the book for most of the story. We’ll diverge more and more as we go on.
> 
> Tw for badly written accents and physical and verbal child abuse. Dursley's gonna Dursley.

* * *

  


* * *

  
Tom’s favorite time of year was spring. It was warmer, but not hot enough that the gardening chores were unbearable, and it usually meant he could find some companionship in the adders and grass snakes who’d just woken from hibernation. Fall was decent, but Halloween always made his stomach twist. He assumed it was because that was the day he and Harry’s parents died, but that _knowing_ feeling he sometimes got told him there was more to it than that. Tom had long ago learned not to question those feelings.

Winter was miserable. It was cold and dreary and the end of the year brought a bitterness he didn’t know the source of.

Summer was a mixed bag. On the one hand, it was hot, and they were given more outdoor chores than not, and with no school to distract his single brain cell, the Cousin took to harassing the brothers more often than not. But summer was when snakes could be found anywhere, and they had the most free time to themselves, and it was Harry’s birthday, which Tom always tried to make special.

(Never mind it was Tom’s birthday too, he didn’t really care for the concept of birthdays, except for Harry’s.)

But summer meant June, and June was an obnoxious month. It was when the Cousin had _his_ birthday, and unlike Harry and Tom, he made the occasion a tedious affair, insisting the whole month be celebrated instead of the day. The boy became even more demanding and obnoxious the closer to the actual day it got, which was of course near the _end_ of June. Tom had no idea what point any of that served, but there was a lot the Cousin did that he found to be pointless. Like his existence in the first place.

At the moment though, the Cousin was distracted. He was inside attempting to sneak around the house in search of his hidden birthday presents. Presents he’d be receiving tomorrow regardless, but the child had no patience. The occasional wail and scream from inside implied that the search wasn’t going very well.

With the Cousin busy present hunting, and the other Relatives occupied with day before party preparations, Tom and Harry were free from responsibility for the moment. They’d already gotten done with the required chores (the Aunt had been so frazzled that she’d simply barked “vacuum” at them after they’d gotten home from school, then proceeded to forget they existed). 

That left the brothers with rare leisure time for the rest of the evening, which they decided to use by doing their homework in the backyard under a tree. Normally they’d travel to the nearby park to get a break from the burning plainness of Number Four, but Harry had spotted some of the Cousin’s cronies patrolling the street on their bikes. He and Tom were having such a pleasant day so far, it would be a shame to ruin it by having to run from a pack of bullies on the hunt.

So the backyard it was, listening to the Cousin bemoan his hidden presents and the Aunt shriek on the phone about birthday cake.

Tom’s attention was pulled to the present by Harry gently knocking his messy head of hair against his shoulder. Tom looked down at his brother with a raised brow and Harry responded by showing him the worksheet the younger was working on.

Tom immediately spotted the problem.

“Use ya loaf. Com’on, think it through.” A combination of being around others in the classroom, the disdain from adults, and jeers of children had tampered down on both Tom’s and Harry’s accents over the years. It still sounded not-quite-right, but with a bit of effort Tom could nearly flawlessly imitate those around him if he wanted.

He quickly realized after primary school began that the way he spoke wasn’t going to get him very far. If he ever wanted to get he and Harry out of Number Four, he’d need connections and resources, not things easily made when you talked like someone’s Londoner great grandfather.

When he wasn’t paying attention to his words, Tom’s accent slipped into something a bit more unusual. The cockney bled through, as did bits of slang fifty years outdated, but the rest of his words became stilted and oddly enunciated, littered with pauses and strange inflections. Harry, being Harry, copied it with relish. They were quickly making a speech pattern unique to them, which Tom didn’t mind all that much. He liked anything that belonged to just the know of them.

It also drove the Aunt up the wall.

“I dunno wut it’s asking me.” Harry complained. “It don’t ma’e sense.” 

“You go’a brain. Use it. Take apart the question. Write out ther numbers yer’ve got, solf it like that.”

It was a math question. One of those that was worded out rather than written with numbers. Those always stumped Harry. His head had trouble going from reading words to numbers, so when he read written question his brain seemed to ignore the fact that there was _math_ involved.

Harry huffed, his disappointment that Tom wasn’t just going to give him the answer tickling the back of his brother’s mind. The older just grinned in response. _No brother of mine is gonna be a simpleton. I’m not going to treat you like the Cousin and just give you things, you gotta earn it._ He thought. Harry snorted, having received the gist of what Tom meant. 

They weren’t psychic. Couldn’t talk into each other’s minds, but they could send each other feelings and impressions. Harry figured it was a twin thing. Tom thought it might be something more, but in this case he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He appreciated the connection to Harry too much to really question it, even if it made his curiosity _burn_.

Harry scribbled out numbers, tried organizing them into an equation. It took him a few tries, but Tom saw the moment the question clicked for Harry, felt the satisfaction of understanding. Both boys loved to learn. Knowledge was power, after all. And power meant survival.

They finished the rest of their homework in silence, content to just be together. Tom finished first, as usual, but Harry was done only a few minutes after. Tom’s brother was dead clever, even if he didn’t like to show it as blatantly. Harry was far shyer. He didn’t like to talk to anyone but Tom, usually using the older boy as a translator. Tom was fine with the arrangement. While he was by no means an outgoing child, he also wasn’t afraid to be heard. Tom liked when people paid attention to him. He liked that people noticed he existed.

But in the end, he’d be satisfied if the only one who ever paid him any mind was Harry. If Tom ever lost that, he thought he might just die.

But Harry always noticed Tom. They were connected in ways he didn’t think anyone else was. Sometimes it felt less like they were two individual people, and instead one person split in two bodied. Tom often wondered if maybe they’d once been one person, back when they were still growing inside their mum. Then something made them split in half, and cursed them to grow up separate. Maybe one day they could find a way to stick themselves back together, and become whole again. 

Tom thought he knew what people meant, when they said someone was their better half. Harry was certainly his. It was like when they became two people, all the good parts went into Harry, and all the bad parts went to Tom. 

Tom supposed that made him the evil twin. It wasn’t really something he was too upset about.

But being nearly the same person meant Harry was too bloody in tune with Tom. He knew exactly what his brother felt, and noticed things Tom wished he didn’t.

 _“You are missing-losing-can’t catch sleep again.”_ Harry hissed in snake speech. _“Predator sleep-thoughts again?”_ Snakes didn’t have a word for bad dreams, so they sometimes had to get creative when making words. A serpent's vocabulary was limited, with words focused on hunting, fighting, dying, breeding, and sleep.

Tom grimaced, but knew Harry well enough to know he wasn’t about to let the subject drop. “I think I drowned.” He finally said, saying the words carefully and slowly and almost normal.

Harry looked at him with sad knowing eyes. Tom felt a push of _love-comfort-understanding_ from his brother, and found the courage to continue. “I don’ s’pose tha’s ‘ow I died, bu’ I dreamed they pu’ wa’ah down me mouf til I cudden breafe.” Tom cut himself off, feeling his words slurring and stopping in a way that reminded him of tolling bells and a city he’d never been to. He took a breath and reoriented his mouth. “It was the basement again. There was chanting. I think… I think they were tryna drown me cuz they thought I wassa demon.”

Harry’s small hand took hold Tom’s and gave it a tentative squeeze. “Your no’ah demon.” He said with only the confidence Harry could. “You protect me. I don’ think a demon would do tha.”

Tom looked at the scar on his brother’s head, and felt the swell of guilt and anger and fear he always did when he saw it. _You’re wrong._ He thought to himself.

_I’m a monster._

* * *

The next day the brothers were woken by the sound of thunder, or the Cousin’s stomping footfalls, either one.

In Tom’s sleep addled mind, it sounded like bombs going off. He jerked awake in a panic, ready to throw himself over Harry and protect his small body from a collapsing building.

But there was no collapsing building, just a spoiled boy jumping on the stairs overhead.

Tom relaxed, the fear slowly leaving him, and began to get ready for the day. It would prove to be an exceptionally odd one. It began with a tantrum thrown over less presents than the year prior (and a promise of two more for the spoiled git, did the Aunt not realize this would lead to her having to buy an increasing number of gifts every year?). Then there was the discovery that there was no one to watch the brothers while the Relatives went out for birthday celebrations. So, Harry and Tom were shoved into the back seat of the car and brought along to the zoo.

Harry loved the zoo. Tom… had mixed feelings.

On the one hand, the animals were interesting, and going to a new place was always a treat. But it was crowded with far too many people, and they had to follow behind at the whims of the Cousin and his friend, going wherever they went else they got left behind and forgotten. 

Then there were all the animals lazing about in cages, which made Tom feel… uncomfortable. There was something about seeing the creatures in captivity that set his teeth on edge. It was less the conditions of the exhibits (which were more than adequate for the care of the creatures) and more the principle of the thing. Something about imprisoning something so powerful and free just made Tom _itch_. 

(It reminded him of stone basements and leather straps and holy water and shrapnel and other things not fully remembered in his waking hours)

Harry though, well Harry was in heaven, so Tom supposed the experience wasn’t all that bad. Getting to see his brother’s delighted face and hear him babbling about this and that was worth all the discomfort in the world.

Things became more complicated when they made it to the reptile house. The moment Tom stepped inside, all he could hear was hissing words. Most were content murmurs about warm rocks and being fed the night before, but a few were complaining about the lack of space or no one to mate with or how disappointing it was the prey didn’t struggle.

Tom looked around and saw cage after cage after cage full of snakes. A strange surge of emotions filled him. Some odd concoction of joy at seeing so many snakes, and disgust at how they were kept in little boxes. A glance at Harry showed his brother felt much the same.

Biting back his anger, Tom decided there wasn’t anything to be done that wouldn’t land on their heads and result in punishment, and sent a strong warning pulse toward Harry to remind him _not to do anything stupid._

His brother responded with a feeling of _I’m not an idiot._ Tom raised a brow as if to say _are you sure_ , which he received a shove on the shoulder for.

Together they went around the reptile house, softly conversing with the snakes inside. Most were rather dull creatures, without many thoughts past food, warmth, and mate, but a few had the awareness for a bit of back and forth. One elderly cobra even joked with them, though snake jokes were very different from human ones and not really understandable outside of snake-speech.

There was a young boa curled up on a fake tree branch who took a particular liking to Harry. Tom could feel his brother’s desire to free the reptile, but they couldn’t very well get the snake out without causing chaos and likely getting punished for it by the Relatives, nor did they have anywhere to take the boa. There was no way they could bring her back to Number Four with them, and England was no place for a tropical snake.

All things Tom had to firmly remind Harry of, much to the younger’s disappointment.

 _“She’s never been outside before.”_ Hissed Harry, gesturing to the plague that said the boa was captive bred.

Tom leaned his body against Harry and whispered back, _“There’s not anything we can do. We can’t break-bite the glass. Where would she go? The underfoot-hole with us?”_

Harry looked sadly at the boa and hissed his apologies, though Tom wasn’t sure it translated as snakes didn’t really have a word for sorry.

They remained in the reptile habitat for a while after that, but were eventually dragged away by the Relatives and the Cousin’s search for something more ‘interesting’.

As if snakes weren’t the most interesting thing they’d seen thus far.

The zoo trip ended without any major incidents, and the Aunt even gave them leftovers from the Cousin’s birthday dinner for their good behavior. 

For once, June 23rd was a pleasant day, something Tom doubted was likely to be repeated in the future.

* * *

A few weeks later, everything changed.

It began with the Aunt attempting to dye school uniforms for Harry and Tom using some of the Cousin’s old clothes (to very limited and smelly success), and the Uncle ordering his son to fetch the mail.

“Make Harry get it.”

“Get the mail, Harry.”

Tom felt his brother’s desire to argue, and interrupted before anything could go poorly so early in the morning.

“I’ll get it.”

No one bothered to respond to Tom’s declaration, but he did get a feeling of apology and remorse trickle from his connection to Harry. He sent a push of reassurance back. It was just mail, after all.

Turns out it was a good thing Tom went to get the mail, as there amongst a letter from the Uncle’s sister and a bill, were two letters addressed to Tom and Harry. Tom quickly stuffed the two letters in the waistline of his pants and pulled the oversized shirt he wore over them to cover the evidence. Then he went back inside to deliver the other two bits of postage.

The rest of the morning went by without incident, but the curiosity of what those two letters were burned Tom to distraction. He felt the soft material against his skin every time he moved. It made him wonder what they were made of. It felt different from regular paper.

Harry could feel Tom’s curiosity and kept sending him small glances as the two helped make breakfast, but Harry was smart enough not to say anything.

After breakfast had been served, Tom gestured for Harry to follow him and lead his brother to the other room. The Aunt had mentioned needing their help with something that day, so they couldn’t go running off to the park just yet, but curiosity was eating Tom alive. He couldn’t wait any longer to figure out that the letters were.

Safely away from the Relatives, Tom pulled out the letters.

They were made of some sort of thick parchment with emerald green ink scrawled on the front and no return address or stamp. Tom handed Harry the one with his name on it and kept the one addressed to ‘Henry’ for himself. 

Beneath the different names, they both read:

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Tom felt a flash of anger at seeing the address. Whoever wrote this _knew_ they lived in a broom cupboard. Knew there were two boys who grew up in a cramped little place rather than a bedroom. What else did they know, and fail to do anything about?

“We got le’ers?”

Harry’s voice pulled Tom from his anger. Leave it to Little Harry to feel joy at receiving the first letter in his life, rather than focus on the fact that someone knew where he slept. 

“Looks it.” Tom flipped the letter over and saw it was sealed with red wax. Looking closely at it he saw what seemed to be a coat of arms of some sort. He spotted some kind of bird, an eagle or hawk maybe, as well as a lion, a badger, and a snake. Looking at it made a deep sense of nostalgia well up inside him, and suddenly Tom _wanted_ so badly, though he hadn’t the faintest clue _what_ he wanted.

His hands trembled as he popped the seal and carefully pulled out the letter inside. 

Before he could unfold it, the letter was ripped from Tom’s hands.

“What’s this?”

Tom turned on the Cousin with a snarl, making the larger boy take a step back. “It’s _mine._ ” He hissed.

“Dad! Dad!” Tom flinched as the Cousin began to scream. “The freaks have letters!”

The Uncle burst into the entry and snapped up the two letters right out of their hands.

“Who’d be writing to the likes of you two?” he sneered as he opened up Tom’s stolen letter and began to read. Whatever it said made all the blood drain from his face, which was quite the feat considering how red and flushed it always was.

“P-petunia!” The Aunt rushed over to read over her husband’s shoulder and similarity paled. 

The two began to shriek at each other. It seemed as if they forgot that the three boys even existed, which the Cousin took great offense to. He soon joined in the shrieking, demanding to read the letters that were rightfully Tom and Harry’s. 

Harry looked caught between anger and confusion at what was going on, while Tom was simply livid.

Those letters were something _important_.

The screaming ended with the Uncle shoving all three boys out the hall and into the kitchen. The Cousin crowded around the keyhole to listen to what his parents were saying. Tom and Harry didn’t need such juvenile measures.

They had gotten good at eavesdropping, and could simply wish to hear what was being said enough to make it happen.

Tom could make out the Relatives speaking in frantic voices on the other side of the door.

“Vernon, look at the address- how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don’t think they’re watching the house.”

“Watching- spying- might be following us.”

“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want-”

“No. No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get an answer… yes, that’s best… we won’t do anything…”

“But-”

“I’m not having one of those in the house, Petunia! Never mind _two_! Didn’t we swear when we took them in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”

And that was it. The letters disappeared, and the Relatives refused to speak of it. The Uncle left for work and the Aunt decided to simply pretend that Harry and Tom didn’t exist.

Anger simmered inside Tom. He contemplated breaking every bone in the Aunt’s body until she finally returned the letter and explained what was going on. It obviously had something to do with his and Harry’s ‘freakishness’. The Relatives only acted this way when it came to the odd things the brothers could do.

It might even have something to do with their parents, Tom realized with a start, if their childhood theories were correct.

Later that day the Uncle actually bothered to visit them in their cupboard, though he only did so to inform the brothers that their letters had been burned.

Tom felt enough anger to make cracks form on the walls of the cupboard, though the Uncle didn’t seem to notice. 

“Those letters weren’t for you. It was a mistake.”

“It was _not._ ” Harry hissed. “It said ‘cu’board un’er the stairs’ on it.”

The Uncle screamed for silence, causing Harry and Tom both to flinch. “Yes, about the cupboard.” He started again, softer, almost friendly, though it seemed to pain him to do so. “Your aunt and I have been thinking… it’s a bit small for two boys. You’re both getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you two moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

Tom felt his brain stall. They… what? Was this an attempt at bribery? Trying to get them to forget about the letters? Or perhaps it was about what the Uncle had said before, about people watching the house.

“Why?” Tom demanded.

“Don’t ask questions!” Snapped the Uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”

Not seeing any other options at the moment, the boys did as they were told. There wasn’t much to move, so it didn’t take them long.

Soon they found themselves in a bedroom full of the Cousin’s discarded garbage. They’d have to sort through it later, see what could be saved and made useful, then throw out everything else.

The shelves of books looked promising at first glance, but most of the books were about subjects that had no use to either Tom or Harry. The shelves themselves at least they would keep. Perhaps they could get a collection of books for their own.

From downstairs Tom could hear the Cousin crying about how he needed two bedrooms and to make “the freaks leave”.

There was only one bed at the moment, the one they’d drug up from the cupboard. Tom wondered if they might get a second one. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea. He’d never not slept in the same bed as Harry. It would be odd not to have another body beside him to comfort him when he woke from nightmares.

Looking around the room, a place that Tom had always wanted but never thought he’d get, he realized he’d rather have the letter.

His fingers tangled in Harry’s, Tom knew his brother felt the same.

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, more and more green inked letters arrived. But try as the brothers might, they didn’t manage to get a single one for themselves. Somehow the Relatives always got to them first, and shredded or burned them before the boys could steal one back.

He’d tried to snag one, got it in his hands even, but then the Uncle had found him. The massive man had snarled, face twisting and going purple. Instinctual fear choked up Tom’s throat, then pain as a large hand slapped him across the face. He fell back hard against the wall, his skull making a dull _thunk_ as it collided with the white plaster on the way down. Tom lay dazed on the floor. His skull ached, his face burned. He froze up as the Uncle hovered over him, but the man didn’t strike him again. Instead, the letter was ripped from Tom’s limp fingers and thrown into the fireplace.

“Don't try that again, Freak.” He spat, grabbing Tom by his skinny arm with bruising force and hauling him to his feet. He stumbled behind the Uncle as the man dragged him up the stairs and threw him into his new bedroom.

“You’ll be staying in here the rest of the day.” He snarled. “Ungrateful brat. At least your freakish brother behaves.” The door slammed and locked from the outside, leaving Tom in solitude.

His face ached. His arm throbbed.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

The door stayed locked until nightfall. Even then, it only opened long enough for Harry to be thrown in. The founder boy rushed to Tom, his wear hands hovering over his bruised cheek.

Harry didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. He just offered comfort, did his best to kneel the bruises with a wish. The boy’s green eyes were on Tom, so, so _sad._

Harry knew what Tom did. Knew why he did it. He hated Tom putting himself in the line of fire for him. Hated seeing Tom hurt. But there wasn’t anything he could do.

The Relatives tolerated Harry, but for some reason they _hated_ Tom. Even if he didn’t do anything, he would be hurt. Even if he stayed quiet and small, they would find some fault. They called him evil. They called him unnatural. They were _afraid_ of him. And that fear made them lash out.

Tom figured, his pain might as well serve some purpose. He might as well use their hatred of him as a distraction. If all their focus was on Tom, Harry would be left alone.

Harry had begged once, to stop. To be good. To leave well enough alone. And Tom had tried, he really, really had.

But it wasn’t any use.

The treatment was the same.

For some reason, the world seemed to want him dead.

Tom didn’t try to steal another letter after that.

At least Harry was keeping quiet and staying out of the way. So far his younger brother had managed to avoid punishments of his own, but Tom knew they both were on thin ice.

Things finally came to a head when letters began to spew out the _chimney_ Sunday morning. Tom was pretty sure the Uncle’s sanity broke at that point, since as soon as the kitchen was locked up with hundreds of letters filling it up, he demanded everyone pack a bag of clothes and herded them into the car. Soon they were speeding down the road, taking spontaneous turns and looping back around, the Uncle muttering to himself all the while like a _meshuggener._

They spent the night in a random hotel but left early the next morning when the hotel owner came to deliver two letters with emerald cursive.

Eventually they found themselves staying in a shack on the coast, a storm raging outside.

It was nearly midnight, the day before Tom and Harry were to turn eleven years old, and the two boys were curled up on the floor with a single blanket between them. Neither could sleep. The house shook with the storm and the booming thunder outside made Tom flinch with each peel. The floorboards were hard beneath them. 

Tom could feel Harry trembling against him. It was freezing, and the thin blanket did nothing to keep them warm. He did his best to wrap his lanky body around Harry and share what body heat he had, but Tom was mostly skin and bones himself, not much better than the ratty blanket.

Tom wondered if he could collapse the wood shack on the Relatives and crush them. Maybe push all his willpower into causing a rockslide and sending the shed into the ocean. They could claim it was a freak accident, that they were the only survivors. Maybe he could say the Uncle had lost his mind and killed his own family, and the only reason he and Harry got away is because the man slipped and fell into the sea. 

Harry would probably hate him for it, but Tom was sure he’d eventually get over it. He hated the Relatives just as much as Tom did, he was just to bloody _good_ to consider murder as a viable option. At least when they went past just the theoretical. Harry did love it when Tom shared his outlandish murder schemes with him, the more bizarre and complicated the better.

Unfortunately, Harry wouldn’t be okay with _actually_ killing someone.

Glaring at the snoring Cousin and his digital watch that claimed it was three minutes to midnight, Tom cursed Harry and his moral compass. Things would be so much easier if Harry understood that sometimes, people die.

And sometimes, you had to be the one to kill them.

There wasn’t such a thing as good and evil. It was all just choices, and what you were willing to do to survive.

Tom didn’t think there was any line he wasn’t willing to cross to stay alive. Nothing he could think of seemed to abhorrent if it meant he would keep breathing.

More than that though, he didn’t think there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep Harry alive as well.

They were two halves of the same person after all. Of course his survival instinct would extend to Harry. Tom was pretty sure he’d be willing to even die for his brother.

Harry was the better half, after all. If one of them deserved to survive, it was Harry.

Suddenly a massive _boom_ echoed through the tiny shack. Tom jerked violently at the sound. He felt Harry flinch beside him. Both boys twisted around to look at the door where the sound had come from.

A second _boom_ sounded, loud enough to wake the Relatives. The Uncle barged in with a rifle in hand. Tom wondered if the man had any idea how to use it. He certainly held it like it would try and bite him any moment, so probably not.

He waved the rifle around and shouted about being armed, but whoever was at the door didn’t seem to care.

A third _boom_ resulted in the door being torn off its hinges, revealing a giant of a man with wild black hair and beard wearing a billowing black leather coat. The man stepped through the doorless opening, his hair and coat sopping wet. He stepped over the broken door and lifted it up with one enormous hand, then casual as could be, put it back in place. He acted as if knocking down doors was a common occurrence. Given the man’s size, it might very well be.

“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey…” the man grumbled in a deep echoing voice that made gooseflesh rise on Tom’s arms and filled him with a sudden sense of _deja-vu_ . He’d heard that voice once before, a lifetime ago and mostly forgotten. He couldn’t grasp the memories around it, but he _knew_ that he knew this man _._

The giant of a man strode over to where the Cousin was sitting on the sofa and none so gently kicked him off, then took a seat of his own. The Cousin ran to hide behind his mother’s proverbial skirts, who was in turn hiding behind her husband’s great mass.

Harry evidently thought it was hilarious. Tom thought it was some amount of justice served. The Relatives deserved to be terrified for once.

“An’ here’s tha boys!” the giant said as he turned to the brothers. “Las’ I saw of you two, you were only babies,” he told them. His dark eyes looked between the two, then broke out in a large smile. “Yeh look a lot like yer dad, Harry, but yeh’ ere got yer mom’s eyes.”

Harry looked startled at the information. There was a deep longing in his green eyes, the knowledge that this man _knew their parents_ . There was a connection to their long dead mum and dad _right there_. Someone who might actually answer their questions.

“I demand you leave at once, sir!” the Uncle interrupted before the strange giant could say anything else. “You are breaking and entering!”

“Ah, shut up Dursley, yeh great prune.” said the giant as he reached over and crushed the barrel of the rifle in one massive fist. The metal crumbled in his hand like tinfoil. For good measure, the gun was ripped from the Uncle’s hands and tossed across the room.

The giant turned back to the two dark haired boys. “Anyway- Harry, Henry, a very happy birthday to yeh both. Got summat fer yeh here. Mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.”

He pulled a somewhat crushed paper box from out of his coat and handed it over to them. Harry took the box as Tom made no move to. He wasn’t about to accept something from a stranger, though he didn’t exactly want Harry to take it either.

The box, it turned out, contained a large chocolate cake with smudged green icing spelling out _Happy Birthday_.

Tom looked between the man and the cake, the sense of familiarity growing the longer he was around him.

“Who are you?” Tom demanded.

Rather than take offense to the boy’s lack of manners, the giant chuckled. “Right, I haven’t introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.”

 _Rubeus_ and _Hogwarts_ echoed in Tom’s head as the newly named Hagrid shook both their hands. 

“What about that tea then, eh? I’d not say no ter summat stronger if yeh’ve got it, mind.”

The giant went about making a fire and pulling an assortment of items from his coat, including chipped mugs, sausages, and even a whole copper kettle. No one said anything while he made tea and roasted sausages, though the Uncle warned his son against taking anything from Hagrid once the sausages were done cooking.

“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ anymore, Dursley, don’ worry.” he told the man, making Tom snort.

They were fed sausages and tea, though no one was explaining what was going on. Harry shifted next to Tom. He wanted to ask questions, but was having to psych himself up to do it. Tom brushed his shoulder against Harry’s and did the asking for him.

“We still don’t know what’s going on, who ya are, or what you’re doing ‘ere.”

“Call me Hagrid, everyone does. An’ like I told yeh, I’m the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts. Yeh know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.”

“No, never heard of it.” said Tom while Harry just shook his head.

Hagrid stared at them in shock.

“S-sorry.” Harry mumbled. Tom looked at his brother with an expression that said _you have nothing to apologize for_. 

Hagrid seemed to agree. “ _Sorry?”_ he barked. He spun to glare at the Relatives. “It’s them as should be sorry!” Tom decided right there that he liked Hagrid. “I knew yeh weren’t getting yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?”

Harry looked between Hagrid and Tom with wide eyes, while Tom just watched his brother. He knew it. _He knew it._

“All what?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“ALL WHAT?” Hagrid thundered, causing the two boys to shrink back. Hagrid didn’t seem to notice their unease, too busy being angry at the Relatives. He jumped to his feet and turned on the cowering family. “Do you mean ter tell me that these boys know nothin’ abou’- about _anything_?”

The Relatives looked ready to faint on the spot, huddled together like scared birds. Tom watched with glee as Hagrid ripped into them, though Harry seemed too occupied with confusion and frustration over not understanding what was going on to appreciate the sight.

“What do we not know?” Tom finally said. Might as well try and get the conversation back on track. 

“About _our_ world. _Your_ world, mine, _yer parent’s world._ ”

The brothers looked between themselves.

“You mean to say,” Tom said slowly to make sure his words came out right, “that we aren’t jus’ …. just freaks o’ nature? Tha’ what we can do, our parents could, and tha’... there’s a whole _world_ out there fulla it?”

Hagrid looked like he was about to boil over with his anger. He spun on the Relatives and began screaming at them once more. He looked back at the boys, almost desperate. “But yeh must know about yer mum and dad. I mean, they’re _famous._ So are you.”

Tom blinked. “Famous?”

“Yeh really don’t know…” he looked between Harry and Tom, like he wasn’t sure what to do. “Yeh don’ know what yeh _are_?” He said in… almost despair.

The Uncle decided in that moment to interrupt, butting in with a loud “Stop!” He glared at Hagrid, though his face still looked pale enough he seemed a moment from a dead faint. “Stop right there. I forbid you tell the boys anything else!”

“You never told them?” Hagrid demanded in a quiet, dangerous voice. The Uncle didn’t seem to realize the danger he was in. “Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left for them? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it! An’ you’ve kept it from them all these years?”

“What letter?” Tom asked in his own small deadly voice. He absently wondered if Hagrid would be willing to help him hide the bodies of his relatives, or if he was more like Harry. His gut told him the giant man wouldn’t be too keep on murder, no matter how livid he was at the Dursley’s right then.

Hagrid ignored the Uncle’s screaming demands to stop. He crouched down to be more level with the two eleven year old boys.

His black eyes flicked back and forth between green and brown.

“Yer wizards, the both of ye.”

And that, that wonderful word, it felt so _right_.

Tom began to tremble. He felt full, his body shaking with _hope_ , something so rare and foreign to him. 

They were _wizards_.

They were _special._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the love this story has already gotten. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to write anything, and in the last four days I’ve managed to type up more than 10k words. I am so excited for this story and I’m really hoping my motivation sticks so I can actually finish it. Reviews are motivation fodder, so if you want to see more of this story, that’s honestly the best thing to do. Every comment and kudos makes me want to rush home and write more.
> 
> Once again I apologize for my horrible attempt at writing a Cockney accent. I hope it’s at least understandable. Once schools starts the accent is going to become few and far between. It’ll really only show up when Tom is incredibly stressed, or relaxed and with Harry, as he won’t bother trying to sound ‘proper’. On the plus side I got to spend over an hour researching different British dialects, and even more time searching up 1930’s London slang.  
> Speaking of, ‘meshuggener’ is Yiddish for a crazy person. Given Tom Riddle lived at an orphanage during the 1930s/40s, he would have been there during the Kindertransport, the transportation of nearly 10,000 Jewish children to U.K. before the breakout of WWII. It’s likely there would have been Jewish children brought to the orphanage, and Tom would have picked up some Yiddish. While the memories of his prior life are foggy, he can remember the slang from his first childhood just fine.
> 
> Anyway, Happy New Year guys. I hope 2021 treats us all better.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://ezra-millers-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) or check out my [fandom artblog](https://carlistyl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Up next: Diagon Ally, and Tom begins scheming (then again, isn’t he always?)


	3. A Place I’ve Almost Been Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley, here we go.

* * *

* * *

  
Tom learned a lot of things from Hagrid. First, he learned that non magical people were called Muggles. Based on the word and the way he said it, Tom drew the conclusion that wizards didn’t hold a very high opinion of people without magic. That made Tom wonder what other things wizard’s didn’t have high opinions of, and what the culture of this new world would be like.

He’d have to learn the do’s and don’ts as quickly as possible if he were going to take advantage of this.

The second thing he learned came as a shock to him and Harry both. Their parents hadn’t died in a car crash. They’d been murdered.

Murdered by a powerful wizard whose name made Tom’s insides go hot and cold at the same time. _French. His name is French. Why is it French?_

A small scared part of Tom thought he knew, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself yet.

The third thing he learned was that the man who murdered their parents, who’d tried to murder _Harry_ (and who Tom hated on principle for that fact) might still be alive.

That could prove troublesome. Not only was Tom going to have to navigate a new world, he was going to have to make sure he was powerful enough to kill a dark wizard if he ever came back to hurt Harry.

Not just that, Hagrid said the dark wizard had followers. It wasn’t unlikely to assume that some of those followers were upset that their leader had been killed and/or defeated by a baby Harry. They may want revenge.

Hagrid had assured him that most of those followers were in prison, but most was not _all_. It left Tom with an unknown number of threats, with more power, resources, and knowledge than him. He was going to have his work cut out for him.

Lastly, Tom learned that magic was _very_ familiar to him. There was that part of him always holed up in the back of his mind that _rejoiced_ when Hagrid cursed the Cousin. He could _feel_ the magic of the spell, taste it on his tongue and tingle in his fingertips. 

It made him reconsider his theory on his not-memories. For a while, Tom had been under the assumption he was a victim of reincarnation of some sort. It was the only thing he’d found that explained the nightmares and accent and why he knew things about the past that he shouldn’t. He’d thought he’d grown up during the Second World War in a past life, and likely didn’t live long past that. He thought maybe he’d been killed as a teen in the Blitz.

But the way he felt around magic, the familiarity of it, of Hagrid and that _name,_ it made him wonder if maybe he’d been a wizard in that past life too.

As he lay beside his brother, wrapped up in Hagrid’s massive coat, he wondered if the letter with emerald writing the giant had given him earlier that night wasn’t his first invitation to Hogwarts.

Harry shifting beside him pulled Tom out of his thoughts. _“Are you awake?”_ He whispered as softly as he could in snake-speech.

Harry hissed back a soft affirmative. He wrapped a lanky arm around Tom and snuggled closer. _“What is keeping you awake?”_ asked Harry.

Tom thought about what to tell his brother. They weren’t inclined to keep secrets from each other. To do so felt wrong. Tom had immediately shared his reincarnation theory with Harry once he’d discovered the concept. The younger boy had agreed it seemed to fit, then went on to stress that he didn’t care if Tom was reincarnated, or who he was in a past life. Tom was his brother, and that’s what mattered.

Tom thought it was sweet that Harry felt he needed to comfort his brother over the discovery. He hadn’t really considered he could have been someone horrible in a past life. Tom was just… Tom.

Thinking on it now, he didn’t think Harry would be upset if he were a wizard in a past life. But still he hesitated to tell Harry. Why?

 _That name. I know that name._ Tom pushed the thought out of his mind. It was distressing, and he didn’t want to dwell on it. He’d come back to that nagging familiarity when he had more information.

 _“I think that, maybe in my yesterday-life, I was magic.”_ He finally said. He started to speak in snake again, but realized it didn’t have the words for what he needed to say.

“When we got our le’ers, it was like I’d seen the seal before. An’ Hagrid, he’s familiar too.” Tom pressed his face against the crook of Harry’s neck and shoulder and murmured into his pulse, “Maybe tha’s why they tried ter drown me.”

Tom felt Harry’s breath hitch. The arms around him pulled him in closer and then he felt a flood of _love-love-love_ spill over from Harry to him. Tom swallowed it up greedily.

Tom fell asleep curled up beside the one person who’d be there for him no matter what.

At least, that’s what Tom told himself. Deep down he knew it was just a beautiful lie.

* * *

Tom would never admit it, but he was incredibly relieved to wake up wrapped up in a massive leather coat, a giant of a man snoring like an engine on the couch. It meant it wasn’t all a dream, that it was _real._

Harry was already awake when Tom got up, though based on his hair being even more of a mess than usual, it seemed his wakefulness was a new development. Wild hair wasn’t any unusual for Harry, especially in the mornings. Tom did what he could to help his brother tame it, but it was so thick with waves that went every which way, it was pretty much a lost cause.

A sharp knocking on the window drew Tom’s attention. He blinked drowsily at the brown shape sitting on the windowsill, then did a double take. Was that an owl? The bird kept pecking at the glass until Harry finally got up and let it in.

It flew into the dingy little shack and dropped a folded newspaper of the still sleeping Hagrid, waking the man up. This resulted in a very brief introduction into wizarding money (because of course they had their own money) when the owl demanded payment by trying to eat Hagrid’s coat.

Then Hagrid told them they’d be off to buy their school things. That sent a jolt of panic through both brothers.

“We ain’t got no money.” Harry said in despair. “Uncle Vernon said he won’ pay fer it.”

Apparently, there was nothing to worry about. Their parents had put away a school fund for them. A fund they could get to by going to a bank run by _goblins_. That felt… rather on the nose…

Tom wondered about the school fund, and the money left to them. Was there more money? Could they get to it? He’d have to find a few to get he and Harry financed. If they had money, getting them away from their Relatives would be much easier. Money, Tom found, solved a _lot_ of problems.

After a breakfast of cold sausage, they got ready for the day. Tom made sure that he and Harry were dressed as nicely as they could manage. Sadly, there was only so much they could do. While Tom was able to manage some sewing and hemming, when the clothing you started with was already shit, it honestly didn’t matter if you were an expert tailor.

Not that Tom was an expert, by any means. All his skill came from a mix of trial and error, reading, and past-life skills.

Still, they at least looked somewhat presentable, and not dressed in oversized gardening clothes.

Soon the two boys and one giant were boarded up on the rickety boat that they and the Relatives had taken to get to the island the night before. Tom absently wondered how the Dursley’s were going to get off the island now, but decided he didn’t really care. As far as he was concerned, they could rot in the old seaside shack.

Hagrid used his magic pink umbrella to make the boat move without need of oars, and soon enough they were off.

Once the boat was moving, the giant of a man took out his newspaper and began reading, which just wouldn’t do. Tom had questions he needed answered. He just wasn’t sure where to start.

“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual.” Hagrid grumbled to himself. Well, that was as good a place to begin as any.

“There’s a Minis’ry of Magic?” Tom asked.

“Course. They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”

Oh, wasn’t that interesting. So the current Minister was named Fudge. He was ill equipped for the position, or had no spine, and sought out the headmaster of a _school_ for help. A headmaster who could have been the Minister of Magic. So Dumbledore had a lot of political power, and the intelligence to back it up. Tom was of course making some assumptions, but he was rarely wrong about these things.

“What’s the Minis’ry messed up?”

Hagrid huffed and set down his paper, though he didn’t seem annoyed at Tom, but rather the incompetence of the government. “They buggered up some things with the Statute of Secrecy, ‘s all.”

Tom perked up. “The Statute of Secrecy?”

“Yea, it’s er, laws an’ things ta keep the Wizardin’ World secret. Can’t have Muggles knowing about us now can we?”

“What of’er laws are there?”

Hagrid looked caught off guard. “Er, I dunno. Not really my area o’ expertise.”

Harry took that opportunity to pipe up. “You said there’s dragons in Gringotts. Real life _dragons_?”

Hagrid brightened at the mention of giant murder lizards. “Well, they say there are. Never seen one down there myself, but crickey, I’d like a dragon.”

Tom looked at Hagrid like he was mad, and honestly, he might very well be. “You wan’ a _dragon_?”

“Ever since I was a kid.” 

Of course that was when the boat landed on the shore, and then they clambered out. It would take them a while to walk from the shore up to the little town and to the station, so Tom decided to fill the walk with more questions.

“Can you tell us more ‘bout Hogwarts? What classes do they teach?”

“Oh, lots o’ things. They got Defense o’ the Dark Arts, an’ Herbology,an’ Transfiguration, an’ Charms. There’s Astronomy, an’ Potions, an’ Care o’ Magical Creatures, which was always my favorite. There’s other classes yeh start in yer third year, like Arithmancy and Divination and such. Oh, also got History o’ Magic. Tend to forget tha’ one, it’s a bit boring.”

“How is ‘istory borin’?”

Hagrid chuckled. “I guess ye’ll see.”

That didn’t sound good. Tom decided to move on to something else that was bugging him. “Defense ‘gainst the _Dark Arts_ ? Just Dark Arts? What about defense against other kinds of magic? I’m sure there’s lotta ways ter kill a person without dark magic. And what makes somethin’ _dark,_ exactly?”

“Er, that’s a lotta questions, and I’m not really sure I’m the one tah answer ‘em. That’d be better fer the Defense professor.”

Tom grumbled in disappoint, but by that point they were at the town anyway and could really talk about magic in front of so many people. Tom and Harry helped Hagrid figure out how to pay for three tickets at the station, then were off to London.

The city was both familiar and foreign in a way Tom really couldn’t describe. So much of it set off a _wrongness_ in his mind, like he knew it but it _wasn’t supposed to look like that_! It made him jumpy and snappish and left him on edge the whole trip. He’d see buildings and streets that were just on the wrong side of familiar, but something about them looked different from the hazy near-memories he held.

The cars looked wrong on the streets, like they were picture cutouts badly pasted in. People on the streets were dressed all wrong, and everything felt much too _clean_. 

Tom felt like he was drowning in memories he could barely recollect.

Harry seemed to pick up on his discomfort. The younger boy was acting more reserved than Tom knew he felt, clamping down on his excitement for Tom’s sake. Harry kept close to his brother and continuously checked to make sure Tom was doing alright. Still, even Tom couldn’t pull down his mood. Harry was practically vibrating with excitement as the trio made their way to central London.

Eventually they got to Charring Cross Road, and the sense of familiarity became overwhelming. Tom had to stop and just stare at the dingy little pub they were headed toward, apparently called the Leaky Cauldron. Not only did his brain tell him it looked _just like_ it had before, he could _feel_ the magic pulsing around it. There were _waves_ of it, ebbing and flowing over the little building. Tom opened his mouth and breathed it in. He could taste the wards, the thick tangle of spells. Layer upon layers of protection and concealment and generations of magic congealed over the building until it was practically alive.

And beyond it…

Tom nearly collapsed from the magnitude of the magic beyond the pub. Gooseflesh rose up over his body and he could feel his hands trembling. 

“Come along then Henry.” Hagrid called from up ahead, breaking Tom out of the trance he was in.

He took a shaky step to follow, then another, and another, until he was slowly trailing behind the giant man.

“Tom.” he croaked out.

Hagrid paused to look back at him. “Hmmm?”

“Tom. I prefer Tom. Don’ really like Henry much.” He said, his jaw working a bit better.

Hagrid looked at him a bit oddly, but nodded easily enough. “Tom then.” He led them into the pub, which was dark and dingy and full of smoke, but comforting in a way that London hadn’t been.

Tom felt himself relaxing. There was a small collection of people inside, sitting about drinking and chatting.

The chatter stopped as soon as Hagrid walked in. It looked like most of the patrons knew the large man, and most called out a greeting, or walked over to chat. The barman called out and asked if he wanted his usual.

“Can’t Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business.” He glanced back at the boy beside him. “Er, not you Tom.”

Tom grimaced. He didn’t particularly like how common his name was. The barman leaned over the counter to get a better look at the two dark haired boys.

“Good Lord, is this…”

Suddenly all sound and movement inside the Leaky Cauldron stopped. Everyone had eyes on Tom and Harry.

“Bless my soul.” whispered the old barman, his eyes latched onto the faint scar on Harry’s forehead. “Harry Potter, what an honor.” He stepped out from behind the bar and rushed toward Harry, but stopped when Tom stepped in between the two. Harry hid behind him, his thin fingers twisting in Tom’s own.

“Sorry, but my brother is a bit shy around strangers.” Tom told the barman, sliding out of his normal cockney and into something more refined. He slipped into the new accent like he’d been speaking it all his life. The familiarity started him, though Tom refused to let it show. These people obviously knew him, knew _Harry_. He was going to take advantage of that, twist it to his benefit however he could.

And he was going to keep the crowd away from his brother in the process.

“We’re not exactly used to being popular, you see. Grew up with our mum’s sister and her family, so all this is a bit new.” He said just loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Don’t give them enough to realize they knew next to nothing of magic, but establish the fact they were raised by muggles to explain any misunderstanding.

The bartender gave a soft gasp, but nodded in understanding. “No, no, my apologies.” He looked between the two boys with something like pity. “Henry Potter yes?”

Tom shook the offer end hand. “Yes sir, though I actually prefer to go by Tom, if you don’t mind.” The man beamed at Tom, either because of his manners or his name, he wasn’t really sure.

Other patrons of the bar came by to say hello. Many shook Tom’s hands, and most greated Harry from a distance, but they refrained from crowding around the younger boy and overwhelming him, just as Tom hoped.

They were introduced to Professor Quirrell, who was a scared stuttering mess. Tom wondered how they were supposed to learn anything on defense from a man who seemed ready to keel over looking at his own shadow, though the stutter seemed oddly… forced. Tom wondered if maybe there was more to Quirrell that appearance would suggest, and his cowardly behavior was a guise. He supposed he’d find out once classes began, though Tom decided to buy some extra books on defense if he could, just to be sure.

Eventually the three made their way out the back of the bar and into a courtyard, where Hagrid used his pink umbrella to open a secret entrance to the most magnificent place Tom had ever seen.

Diagon Alley was bustling with people wearing the most ridiculous clothing he had ever seen, and buildings that defied gravity. Strange items were displayed in store windows, and owls flew around overhead. Children ran about screaming, chased by their impatient parents. The whole place pulsed with pure _magic_.

Tom could feel it under his skin with every heartbeat.

He feared he might be getting addicted to the sensation, but couldn’t bring himself to want to stop.

Tom could feel Harry’s excitement beside him, feeding back and forth between the two in a constant loop. His brother’s green eyes were wide, his smile even wider. Harry looked more alive than Tom had ever seen him. He felt something twist in his chest at the realization, something between joy and sorrow.

 _I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that look on your face_ , Tom silently promised his brother. _I’ll make sure you smile like this every day of your life._

* * *

Their first stop was Gringotts bank to pick up some funds. The building was massive and made entirely out of marble. A pair of goblin guards stood out front with a long handled ax held in their clawed hands. The two goblins bowed as the three entered. Tom saw Harry bow in return, something that made one of the goblins almost smile.

Inside were hundreds more goblins, most sitting on tall stools behind one of two long counters that flanked either side of the bank. Others rushed around in the background, carrying stacks of papers or keys or gems, while others led groups of people through some of the countless doors in the back.

Hagrid stepped up to a free goblin with a smile and a greeting. “We’ve come ter take some money outta the Potter school vault.”

“Do you have the key, sir?” The goblin asked, looking between Hagrid and the two boys beside him.

“Got it here somewhere.” grumbled Hagrid, who had to empty out his many pockets and sort through all the garbage he’d collected in them until he finally pulled out a tiny golden key. “Got it!”

The goblin looked closely at the key, then nodded. “That seems to be in order.”

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore, about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.” He said, handing over a piece of parchment. 

Tom perked up at that little tidbit. That sounded important. He wondered if he could get Hagrid to accidentally spill a few details. 

The goblin called over another named Griphook to take them to the vaults. 

Tom looked at Harry, who was looking intently at Hagrid. “What’s in vault seven hundred thirteen?” He asked innocently. Tom felt himself grinning.

“Can’t tell yeh that.” Hagrid said. “Very secret. Hogwarts business Dumbledore trusted me with. More’n my job’s worth ter tell yeh that.”

Tom thought that over. Likely an object. He doubted money would require that much secrecy, and no way were they keeping something alive in a vault (unless wizards had a way to keep something in stasis?). Still, probably an object. Something that has to be kept secret, so likely powerful or rare, or both. And Dumbledore requested it. The man was becoming more and more interesting, and Tom hadn’t even met him yet.

Tom decided he would ask Hagrid more subtle questions later, when the man was distracted and more likely to say something he shouldn’t.

At the moment though, Griphook was leading them through a stone passageway lined with torches and toward what looked to be a mining cart.

The four of them climbed in at the goblin’s instruction and the cart took off like a shot.

It hurtled through narrow passages at a sickening speed, rattling and twisting around so badly Tom thought he might be thrown off. He held tight to Harry to make sure the other stayed inside the damn cart. If his idiot brother somehow managed to fly out and get mangled at the bottom of a chasm, he would have to hunt down whoever had designed this death trap and skin them alive.

After first learning how to bring back the dead so he could kill Harry himself for doing something as stupid as dying at the bottom of a mine shaft, of course.

 _Finally_ the cart shuttered to a stop in front of a small door in the cave wall.

The four climbed out, Hagrid looking like he was about to vomit, while Harry and Griphook both looked fine, the freaks of nature.

Personally Tom felt almost as bad as Hagrid looked.

The goblin opened the door with the small gold key the giant had provided. It swung open to reveal a chamber full of hundreds, _thousands_ of gold, silver, and bronze coins. 

Tom spun to look at the goblin. “Are they solid?”

Griphook narrowed his eyes at Tom, but answered regardless. “Yes. Galleons are made with pure gold, sickles solid silver, and knuts bronze.”

Tom made a soft humming noise in the back of his throat. “This vault is just school funds, yes? Can the money be taken out for any other purpose? And are there any other vaults in our name?” He asked the goblin while Hagrid was busy explaining the currency system to Harry.

“Yes, sir. This vault is only for education expenses, both tuition and supplies. The money is spelled so that it cannot be spent on anything but those things in the magical world. As to other vaults, well, I’d have to look into that. Though, I do imagine you and your brother are in line to inherit the Potter family vault once you come of age.”

Griphook’s wording caught Tom’s attention. They couldn’t spend the money on anything non school related in the _magical world,_ but what about the muggle one? That held some possibilities.

“What counts as school supplies? We’re required to buy school robes, but what about other clothing. Would that be permitted if it were worn at school? And when do we come of age?”

“Wizard magic makes little sense. If it can be argued it is for school, it _should_ work. Maybe.” The goblin said. “Wizards come of age at seventeen years old.”

So, Tom and Harry had potentially _thousands_ of pounds worth of money at their disposal, but they could only use it on school related things. They also, _theoretically,_ had another vault, that they wouldn’t be able to access until they were seventeen. 

Both better and worse than he was hoping for. Tom looked at the piles of precious metals and decided, _I can work with this._

“Hagrid, can we take extra? Me an’ Harry still don’ know much about magic. It’d be really helpful if we were able to buy more than the required books so we can learn more about all this, don’t you think? Get some things to help us learn about our world?”

Hagrid beamed at him. “Brillian’ Tom. Yeh both big readers then?” The brothers nodded, making Hagrid laugh. “Yeh might end up in Ravenclaw then.” he said while scooping handfuls of coins into a large velvet bag.

“There, tha’ should be enough fer everything, plus a little extra.” He said with a wink. “Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please. And can we go a bit more slowly?”

Griphook gave a vicious smile. “Only one speed, sorry.”

He didn’t sound very sorry at all.

* * *

Tom wasn’t able to see what Hagrid had taken out of vault 713, but he did find out whatever it was, it was tiny, and very well protected.

Tom decided that a vault that would suck you in and leave you to die of dehydration or lack of oxygen (whichever came first) was both terrifying and intriguing. The goblin had looked at him with something like respect when Tom began asking questions about how a vault like that worked, and how one might use it in other situations. Griphook seemed pleased at the boy’s curiosity and readily answered his questions.

He’d also asked about opening vaults for himself and Harry, which seemed to add another point in the goblin’s opinion of him. Griphook had explained that opening a vault took time and a lot of paperwork, so it wasn’t something he’d have the chance to do right then, partially because they still had to shop for school supplies, partially because Tom didn’t have the funds (yet), but if he could get his hands on an owl then he’d be able to start the process remotely. 

The goblin had become even more interested in the young boy when he started asking about investments. Griphook mentioned what things would be lucrative to invest in, and what to avoid. It seemed the goblin decided he liked Tom, or at the very least he’d prove to be entertaining, which Tom wasn’t about to complain about. He decided after they left Gringotts, that goblins would be very good allies to have.

“Might as well get yer uniforms.” said Hagrid, pointing toward a shop named _Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions._ He looked between the boys. “Listen, Tom, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron?” 

Hagrid still looked like he was one misstep from keeling over after the cart ride in Gringotts, so the two shooed him away to get himself a stiff drink, then headed together to the robe shop.

“Hogwarts, dears?” Asked the woman at the front, Madam Malkin, Tom presumed. “Got the lot here. Another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

Sure enough, there was a thin pale boy with white-blond hair in the back standing ramrod straight while a woman pinned black fabric around him.

He stood perfectly still with a bored look on his face. Tom assumed he’d done this many times before. Something about the boy screamed ‘I’m a spoiled little rich boy’. Tom decided he’d be worth getting to know.

After all, money meant connections, meant _power_.

Tom and Harry were led to the back and asked to choose who to go first. Tom stepped forward to climb up on one of the small stools with a smile at his brother, who smiled back and sat down on another stool to watch the process.

Madam Milken slipped a long black robe over his head, then began pinning it to size. Tom watched her movements with interest, memorizing how she did each alteration to try and recreate with his and Harry’s hand-me-downs.

“Hello,” the blond boy greeted, pulling Tom’s attention away from sewing techniques. “Hogwarts too?” He asked with only faint interest.

Tom decided to fish for some information. “Where else would we be going?” He asked, though he was careful his tone sounded genuinely curious and not condescending. Much.

The blond flushed. “Of course you’d be going to Hogwarts. It’s the best magical school in the world. Besides, it’s not as if Beauxbatons or Durmstrang regularly take international students.”

So a French school and something… Germanic? Tom would have to look into those names. 

The blond looked at Tom with a bit more interest. “Do you know what house you’ll be in? I know I’ll be Slytherin. It’s where everyone in my family’s gone.”

Tom hesitated to answer, debating how much to share. He knew wizards looked down on muggles. It would make sense for many of them to feel the same way about magical children raised by muggles. However, their mother and father were both magical, so that had to count for something. Plus it seemed like Harry, and by extension Tom, was a bit of a celebrity with the whole ‘killed a Dark Lord as an infant’ thing. So it all just depended on if admitting he was raised by muggles would work in his favor or not.

Considering Harry was some sort of ‘savior’ of the Wizarding World, it would stand to reason that someone of the anti-muggle persuasion would be horrified to hear he and his brother were raised by non magical people, and would be inclined to help them learn all about this new world of theirs. And if they reacted poorly to that discovery, or treated he and Harry badly because of it, well, those weren’t really people Tom wanted to bother himself with.

“I honestly don’t know much about the houses just yet.” Tom said, keeping a tight hold of his accent. It was getting easier and easier to hide the cockney.

The boy’s face fell, his expression twisting into something almost like disgust. So he thought Tom was muggle-born then. “We were raised by our mum’s muggle sister and her family. They don’t much like magic.” Tom sneered. 

The boy’s expression quickly shifted, becoming calculating. “Your parents are magical?” He asked, looking between Tom and Harry behind him.

“They were. They died when we were babies, hence why we live with our aunt. Mum was muggleborn. We’ve been told our dad wasn’t.”

“My condolences.” Said the boy, though he didn't sound particularly sorry. Tom didn’t hold it against him. It could be hard to make it sound like you felt bad for some strangers' problems. “What was your father’s name?”

Tom couldn’t quite hide his smirk. _Got him_. “James Potter.”

Everyone in the shop froze. Madam Milken actually dropped the pins she was holding, the soft tinkling of them hitting the ground the only sound in the store.

“You’re Harry Potter?” The boy gasped.

“No.” Tom said with a sly grin, which only widened when the boy gaped like a fish. “My brother is Harry.” He said, nodding to the aforementioned boy sitting on the stool, who gave a little wave at the wide eyed blond. “I’m Henry, though I prefer to go by Tom.”

The blond straightened himself up and offered a hand to shake, which Tom readily accepted. “Draco Malfoy.” 

“A pleasure.” he purred.

Malfoy peered over at Harry, as if expecting him to come over and shake his hand as well. Tom decided to interject.

“Excuse Harry. He tends to be shy. We’re not really used to all the attention that we’ve gotten lately, and it’s making him a bit overwhelmed.” 

Harry, who decided to be contrary, took that moment to smile at Malfoy. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” He said, not sounding very overwhelmed at all.

Tom glared at his brother. Harry just grinned back, the prat. Well if that’s what Tom gets for trying to be a thoughtful big brother, he just won’t bother next time. Secretly though, Tom was pleased. Harry was starting to come out of his shell a bit. Maybe it was because Malfoy was younger, but he didn’t seem so overwhelmed now.

Soon enough Madam Milken finished with Tom and moved on to sizing Harry. Tom decided to leave him to his fate, and went to browse the store for anything that could pass as almost muggle for them to wear. They desperately needed new clothes.

It took a while, but he managed to find some plain trousers and a few shirts that weren’t too outlandish and just about the right size. They’d certainly fit better than anything the Relatives gave them, even after Tom tried to alter them.

When Tom returned, both boys were done with their fitting, and Malfoy was animatedly explaining something called quidditch to Harry. His brother’s facial expression looked caught halfway between interested and confused. From what he could gather from Malfoy’s ramblings, he couldn’t really blame him. Why on earth was the magical world’s most popular sport throwing balls at each other while flying on broomsticks? It sounded absolutely ridiculous.

Tom collected the magically sewn robes and handed them over to Madam Milken along with the other clothing he intended to purchase while Harry and Malfoy stood beside him still chatting about brooms.

A soft knock at the window made all three boys look up. It was Hagrid, who held two large ice cream cones in his hands and a third shoved in his mouth.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Hagrid.” explained Harry. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” said Malfoy. “I’ve heard of him. He’s some sort of servant, isn’t he?”

Harry looked offended on Hagrid’s behalf. “He’s the gamekeeper.”

Tom decided to interject. “He was asked by the headmaster to take us to Diagon Alley for our shopping since our relatives weren’t willing to do it. He’s been very kind so far, and a great wealth of information, even if he doesn’t realize it.” Tom eyed the pale haired boy, urging him to read between the lines.

Malfoy seemed to understand some of what Tom was trying to say, or at least pretend to. “Oh, I see. Well, that was very nice of him I suppose.”

“I think he’s brilliant.” said Harry. Malfoy seemed to consider that.

Tom paid for their clothing, managing to get the amount right on his second try. Why did wizarding money have such ridiculous conversation rates? At this point they were just trying to be difficult. 

Tom and Harry left the store with their new clothes packed away while Malfoy remained behind to pay for his own things. Once outside, Hagrid handed over the two ice creams to them. They were absolutely delicious.

“Mind if I tag along?” Tom turned around, half eaten cone in hand, to see Malfoy coming up behind him.

“I don’t see why not. I think we need to go get books next.” He said with a glance at Hagrid, who hesitantly nodded. Poor man looked utterly bewildered that Malfoy was there.

“Fantastic. My father is already at _Flourish and Blotts_ buying my school books. We can meet him there.”

Tom felt Harry’s hesitation at Malfoy coming with them. The young blond obviously hadn’t made a great impression on his brother. Tom did his best to send over the feeling of _he’s useful. Please trust me._ He felt weary acceptance from Harry in return. 

“To _Flourish and Blotts_ then.”

* * *

The bookstore might just have been Tom’s favorite place. It was stocked full of thousands of books stacked taller than even Hagrid. There was so much knowledge here, and Tom had so little money to spend.

He employed Malfoy’s help in finding the best books to purchase for someone new to pureblood society (apparently the name for someone descended from wizards). Malfoy bemoaned the fact that all the good spell books were in Knockturn Alley, which he wasn’t allowed to visit alone. Tom made a mental note to seek out Knockturn as soon as he had the chance.

Harry and Hagrid, on the other hand, began collecting the required texts for school, as well as some extra books on magical creatures. It seemed the two were bonding over their shared love of deadly animals, _joy_.

Tom grabbed several books on pureblood etiquette, to Malfoy’s approval, as well as wizarding law, the history of dark wizards, and a book on historical wars of the magical world. Malfoy looked curious at the choices, so Tom decided to share, “I plan on changing the world. It’s always smart to study the mistakes and victories of the past. History is the best teacher when it comes to shaping the future.”

Malfoy looked at him with something a bit like awe, and insisted he come meet his father. Lucius Malfoy was a tall, stern looking man with cold blue eyes and hair as pale as his son. He wouldn’t be as easy to win over as his son, but if Tom would get the younger Malfoy to put in some good words for him, the elder might prove to be very useful.

After buying a decently sized bookshelf’s worth of books and leaving the Malfoy men to continue their own shopping (with the promise to sit with Malfoy on the train to Hogwarts), Tom, Harry, and Hagrid set out to buy the rest of the items on the school list. 

Cauldrons and potions ingredients were simple enough, as were the scales and telescope. They didn’t need anything fancy when it came to those things. Trunks on the other hand, Tom insisted they splurge on. They got themselves one with expansion charms and secret compartments, including one just for organizing books. They also had an impressive locking system, and anti-tampering wards. They were expensive, but well worth the price. Tom wished he could have gotten one with hidden living quarters inside, but there was no way they could afford something that expensive. Even the trunks they bought were pushing it. Maybe someday.

“Just yer wand left-oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh both a birthday present.”

Both Harry and Tom sputtered at that, not really sure how to accept a gift since they’d never really received one before, but Hagrid insisted.

He ended up buying them a pair of owls. They were a brother and sister, snowy white and beautiful. Harry ended up bonding with the larger female, while Tom took the spotless male. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about the gift, never having had a pet of his own before. But looking at the pure white bird, Tom felt something a bit like when he looked at Harry.

He thought it might be love.

Eventually they made it to Ollivander’s Wand Shop. The building was narrow and cramped and seemed like it was ready to collapse at any moment. It wouldn’t surprise Tom if it did, considering the sign out front claimed it had been open since 382 B.C. Inside wasn’t much better. It was full of dust, and stacked high with a maze of boxes and shelves. 

The whole building _thrummed_ with magic.

Ollivander was a strange man, with large silver eyes that seemed to look right through a person into their soul. Tom feared what he might find there, if the man looked into his.

He felt familiar in the same way Hagrid had. Tom was nearly certain that he’d met him once before, a lifetime ago.

Still, Ollivander didn’t act as if anything was out of the ordinary. He zeroed in on Harry first, mentioning his green eyes and their mother. A willow wand made for charms. He said something about their father too, mahogany and transfiguration. Then the old man’s silver eyes locked onto Harry’s scar, and Tom felt his stomach drop out.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it.” He said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

Tom felt sick.

Ollivander’s knowing gaze snapped onto him next, and Tom thought he might vomit. “Henry Potter. Yes, you’ll be an interesting one too, won’t you. You look like your mother. You have her nose.” He smiled softly at the both of them. “So, who will go first.”

Tom made no move to step forward, still trying to control his spiraling emotions, so Harry went first instead. It wasn’t until several dozen wands had been tried that Tom felt like he was in control of himself again. His eyes focused on what was happening right as Ollivander came out of the back room muttering to himself, two boxes in his hands.

“I wonder…hmmm, I don’t see why not. It’s worth a shot. Yes, wouldn’t that be something.” He held out both boxes. Harry took the one on the left and picked up the wand from inside.

“An unusual combination. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Go on, give it a swish.”

Harry did so, and a shower of red and gold sparks shot out.

“Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good.” He looked to Tom next, and handed him the other box. “Try this one, I think it might just work for you. Very odd wand that. Was very particular in how it wanted to be made. Refused to take any other wood.”

Tom opened the box to find a wand of red and white streaked wood. It looked liked carved bone stained with blood. It was simple in its design, not at all ornate like many of the other wands had been, but it pulsed with power.

“Phoenix feather, twelve inches. Refused to be made of anything but blood elder. Very strange wand, that.”

Tom picked up the wand and felt an electric current run through his nerves. The wand _burned_. It was euphoric.

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

With trembling hands, he waved the wand. Immediately, the temperature plummeted. Frost fogged up the windows so suddenly that a few cracked. A lazy trickle of silver light swirled out of the wand, thick and viscous and almost snake like. It wove around their feet before eventually disappearing into nothing.

Tom let out a shuttered gasp, his eyes still glued to the wand.

“Well, that was… interesting.” Ollivander finally said. Tom glanced up. The man looked incredibly conflicted. He was eyeing Tom like he was some sort of puzzle to solve. “How interesting.”

“Was that bad?” Tom asked in a small voice.

“No, no, not at all. Just much more powerful than I was expecting. I’ve never seen a wand react quite like that. But, it is elder, after all. That wood only takes the best. You must have incredible potential to win its favor. I must say, Mr Potter, you will do great things.” The silver eyes looked from Tom to Harry and back. “It’d say you both will.”

He hummed to himself. “How curious.”

“What’s curious?” Asked Harry.

“Well,” Ollivander began slowly. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in you and your brother’s wands, gave a third feather. Just one other. It is very curious indeed, that you should both be destined for these wands, when their brother, why, their brother gave you that scar.”

Tom’s hand burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this literally minutes before I have to leave for work, so short author note this time.  
> 1) when ahead and put my chapter count at 50. It’s probably going to be longer, but 50 is how many chapters I have drafted so far. This fic is gonna be huuuge.  
> Speak of huge, this chapter is a fucking BEAST.  
> 2) On Tom’s wand, I debated long and hard about wood. I always knew he was going to have a third feather from Fawks, which is our first hint that this universe might not be the same as the one we know, tee hee. But yeah, I ended up going with elder, most due to its symbolism of life and death, and the fact it was used in burial rituals in Celtic culture. I thought it fit best. Tom may seem a bit op. We’ll find out why that is eventually.  
> Ok, might add more to this later, but for now I need to leave for work, bleh.  
> Edit: ok, I’m back from work. Just wanted to add that Tom’s wand wood is inspired by flame box elder wood. Problem is, box elder is actually maple, not elder lmao. So we’re going to say there is a magical kind of elder tree that looks like box elder, because it’s wood is just too amazing looking for me to pass up.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://ezra-millers-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) or check out my [fandom artblog](https://carlistyl.tumblr.com/)


	4. Choking on Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are set in motion, the owls are named, Tom lets a bit of his darkness show, and the Hogwarts Express leaves the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for brief mentions of child abuse. Also Tom contemplates disembowelment, but he’s basically his own warning at this point.

* * *

* * *

  
They were eventually sent back to Number Four, though not before Hagrid bought the twins dinner and handed over their train tickets for the Hogwarts Express. Once back to Privet Drive, the Relatives pretended as if the two boys didn’t exist. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The first night back, Tom and Harry set about organizing their new things. Harry put his books away based on subject, while Tom organized his alphabetically. The little library compartments in their trunks were already coming in handy, and they didn’t even have that many books yet. 

Harry pulled out a book titled _Hogwarts: a History_ and began to read, while Tom sorted through the remaining wizard money they had. While shopping he’d done his best to avoid spending galleons. Gold was the most precious metal of the lot, and something you could easily sell at a pawn shop. The problem would be melting them down so they no longer looked like clearly identifiable coins. Tom didn’t know if it was illegal to sell wizard money to muggles, but he wasn’t about to risk being caught if it was.

The next morning Tom managed to shape a few dozen galleons into something vaguely resembling a block of gold. He’d tried melting them in his cauldron, even used the stove when the Aunt wasn’t paying attention, but he couldn’t get it hot enough and it just made the coins a bit misshapen. So Tom had taken them outside and laid them out on the grass in front of him. He’d focused on them with all his intent, reaching deep inside himself and threading mental fingers through the glowing multicolored light he now knew was his magic.

He pulled strands of the magic up, funneling it through his limbs and into the ground around him. Eyes locked on the coins, he focused on the mental image of them melting, and reshaping into a single gold block.

The grass around him began to smoke and burn. His fingers tingled. And the gold. Wouldn’t. _Melt._

Tom leaned forward and _pushed_. He felt something trickle over his lip and drip down his chin, but he was so focused on the coins he barely noticed it.

_Why wasn’t it working?!_

With a snarl, he swiped at the coins. As soon as his hand connected, a shock like an electric current went up his arm. A flash of light later, and a small bar of shining gold tumbled to the grass.

Tom blinked down at the gold bar. It was slightly lopsided, with small blemishes, but it looked solid. I carefully picked it up and found it was cool to the touch. The gold was solid under his fingers.

Tom grinned, whipping at his bloody nose with a fist. He’d done it.

A week passed and Tom finally had the chance to act on his plan. The next day the Relatives would be going somewhere (something about the pig tail on the Cousin). Tom and Harry were meant to spend the day with Mrs. Figg, the next door neighbor, but Tom had other ideas.

He told Harry of his plan, who of course insisted on coming along. Unfortunately only one of them could sneak out. Someone had to stay behind to make sure Mrs Figg was distracted, and that word didn’t get back to the Relatives of this little escapade.

Harry was devastated. Tom promised to bring back gifts, which only soothed his brother slightly.

Early the next morning, the Aunt dropped them off at Mrs Figg’s. Tom immediately went to her guest room, saying he was feeling under the weather and wanted to try taking a nap. Rather than lay down though, he stuck out the window and ran back to Number Four to steal the Cousin’s bike, gold bar in his pocket.

It was mid morning by the time he finally arrived at the nearest pawn shop, a small thing on a street corner with a single man behind the counter, and an old woman browsing jeweled brooches.

The pawnshop owner looked confused as to why an eleven year old was there trying to sell gold, but a little push of Tom’s will on the man, and he stopped caring about any of that. Tom knew Harry would have been disappointed in him, but it was a necessary evil. He actually managed to get a few hundred pounds for the melted galleons, far more than Tom was expecting. Then again, he didn’t really know what the value of gold was in the muggle world.

After leaving the pawn shop, Tom set out for Charing Cross, and from there, Diagon Alley.

Being back in the Alley, even just a week later, was wonderful. It was just as busy and bustling as before, though not as overwhelming. Like before, his first stop was Gringotts.

Tom exchanged about half of his new wealth for wizarding money. Because these coins didn’t come from the school vault, they could be spent on whatever he and Harry wanted. Not only that, he received back far more galleons than he had started with. A single galleon exchanged to about £50, but the value of the actual gold in the muggle world was much higher. By exchanging gold for muggle currency, then back to wizard, he’d managed to get nearly twice the amount he’d started with.

It would be a lucrative option, if he were stupid enough to try and scam the goblins like that, but Tom wasn’t about to get on their bad side. He would really rather have them as allies than enemies.

With his new money, Tom had a pair of vaults opened for himself and Harry, as well as inquiries done into any other vaults they might have or could inherit. Tom also had the goblins look into their legal standing and collect any and all paperwork they could on the boys. Griphook (who had for whatever reason insisted on helping him as soon as he saw Tom walk into the building) told him that it may take a while to gather all the requested paperwork, as wizards were notoriously disorganized. 

Tom left with a pouch full of coins he could spend however he wanted, two new vaults in his and his brother’s names, and the makings of independence from the Dursleys. 

He decided to stop at a sweets shop and buy some fudge to celebrate. Tom thought it was even better than the ice cream had been. He made sure to get a few pieces to bring back for Harry, his first gift.

Next stop, Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn was off the beaten path. Semi-illegal businesses and shady people lined its roads. Tom made sure to keep his wand in hand at all times. The handful of people wandering around during the daytime stared at him with predatory eyes, but a hiss of snake-speak and a flair of his magic managed to scare them off easily enough.

Tom first found himself at a little shop full of all sorts of odds and ends. He bought a pair of bags with undetectable expansion charms, as well as two wand holsters for Harry and himself. A set of silver throwing knives caught his attention. It never hurt to have another weapon up your sleeve, so Tom decided to splurge and buy both.

Next he went to a secondhand bookshop. It was dark and musty, with hundreds of books stacked on leaning shelves without any rhyme or reason.

Most of it looked very, very dark.

It was perfect.

Tom found himself books on curses, potions, poisons, and even necromancy. There were biographies of the worlds greatest Dark Lords and Ladies, advanced runes, and blood magics. He planned to buy them all.

While browsing, Tom found a book on wandlore that piqued his curiosity. He scanned through until he got to the portion on wand wood. There was a small second on elder. Apparently it was incredibly rare and difficult to work with. Most elder was a light grayish color, but the book did have a brief mention of blood elder. It only spoke of its rarity and color and nothing else.

Tom had to search for another book specifically about wandwood to find out more. Evidently, some eight hundred years ago, a wand maker had tried to recreate something called the Elder Wand, one of three so called Deathly Hallows. The wand had backfired during its creation, causing an explosion of deadly magic that killed the wand maker and destroyed his shop. The excess magic had gone into the wand, causing it to sprout into an elder tree sapling. The young tree had drunk up the wizard’s blood, staining its wood crimson and causing it to grow massive. 

The tree still stood, though wandmakers fiercely protected it and its location. Branches were occasionally gathered for wand craft, though very few ever turned into functioning wands, as the blood elder was notoriously temperamental. Tom pulled his wand from his pocket and looked it over. Most of the wood was a light grey, nearly white. It looked like an old sun bleached bone more than wood. Bright streaks of crimson threaded through the grain like bloodstains.

He decided he’d have to find out more about this Elder Wand and the Deathly Hallows.

A few books later, Tom had his answer.

The Hallows, it turned out, were an old legend without any real proof of their existence. Tom honestly doubted they were real, though the possibility was tantalizing. They said the wielder of the Hallows would be the Master of Death. The power of _Death_ . Now _that_ would be useful.

Tom still had nightmares about air raid sirens and holy water in his lungs. To not have to fear dying, to _survive_ no matter what…

If Tom was anything, it was a survivor.

* * *

Bag full of books, Tom made his way back toward Diagon before it got too late, but on his way out a shop caught his attention. The sign read _‘Borgin and Burkes’_ . Something about the name felt familiar. Deciding he had a few minutes to spare, Tom stepped into the shop. It was an antique store of some sort, and it _reeked_ of dark magic.

The only person in the shop seemed to be the owner, an older, greasy man with knotted grey hair. Something about him made Tom incredibly angry. “Bit young ta be in a shop like this alone, kid.” He sneered.

Tom straightened his back and gave the man an unimpressed look. “Don’t you worry, I can take care of myself just fine.” 

The man snorted. “What’cha looking for then?”

Tom let his eyes rove around the store with a look of disinterest. “Just browsing.” He peered into a case of human hand bones with open curiosity. “I do have an interest in powerful artifacts. Dark, light, I don’t really care. Power is power, after all.” He looked at the shop owner out of the corner of his eye. The man seemed a little unnerved at Tom. He eyed the boy with a mix of caution and intrigue.

“Well, we certainly carry artifacts. All sorts of cursed things.”

Tom hummed.

“Anything in particular?”

Tom hovered his hand over a book bound in thin, stretched leather that looked almost like human skin. It had a nasty aura around it. His magic flared out with something like muscle memory, forcing the book into submission. He picked it up and flipped through it, much to the store owner’s shock. 

“Not really.” Tom answered, not taking his eyes off the book. It was something about necromancy. Interesting, but not something he wanted to be caught at school with. He put the book back. The man made a strangled noise when he picked up the book that was underneath it. It was black and inked in what seemed to be blood. Tom felt a tingle along his skin, not unlike when he’d sucked the life out of garden plants and helpless skinks. Something swelled in his chest, and for a moment Tom thought his ribs might crack open. The feeling left as soon as it came.

Tom set the book back down, unnerved. He composed himself quickly and turned to look at the shop owner.

“I was just curious. This place looked interesting, so I thought I’d pop in for a bit. I do need to be on my way though.” A slow grin formed on his face. “I think I’ll come back sometime though. See what other goodies you have. Thank you for entertaining me.”

Tom’s eyes locked with the shop owner, and he was something like recognition there. He left the store with the feeling that he should have strung up the man by his intestines.

  
  


* * *

On the way back to Surrey, Tom stopped at a corner store and bought up several sacks of non perishable food. Now that he had some money, he might as well stock up to make sure he and Harry went hungry as little as possible.

Tom made it back to Mrs. Figg’s house with the woman none the wiser. Harry had distracted her by having her teach him how to make a red velvet cake, which was actually pretty good. Unlike most of Mrs. Figg’s baking attempts. 

Once they were sent back to Number Four and safe in their bedroom, Tom regaled Harry with the story of what he’d done that day. He told them they now had vaults of their own, though it was up to them to find ways to fill them up. They could look into investing, or perhaps something else, but for the time being it was enough to have them. He also talked about documents he’d requested from Gringotts, and the bookstore, though Tom made no mention of _where_ it was, nor of the antique store he visited.

While Tom talked, he emptied out the expandable bag he’d gotten for himself. First to be removed were the fudges he’d gotten Harry, which his brother was very happy to receive. He ate them while Tom unpacked everything else.

He gave Harry one of the dragon leather wand holsters, which Harry immediately strapped to his forearm. 

“Found these too.” He said, pulling out the throwing knives next. “Figured they’d be useful.” 

Harry picked one up with careful fingers. “Fink we’ll 'ave ter actually use it?”

“I ‘ope not, but better 'ave ‘em and not need ‘em…”

Harry nodded and slid the dagger into his school trunk. Tom took out the books that he knew would be Harry approved, while the others remained hidden in his bag. He handed over a few on magical creatures, a book on jinxes, and one on helpful charms. His brother looked incredibly pleased at Tom’s selection. He was also given his own expanding bag and a book full of interesting historical events that Tom had found at a steal.

While Harry cracked open one of his new books, Tom set about hiding the food he’d bought around their room. A cut a hole into the wall and stuck a plastic shopping bag full of packaged chips and cans of soup inside, then moved the bookcase to cover it. He was able to pull up one of the floorboards to find a little open space beneath it, where he hid more food. He split the rest and put half it in his school trunk, the other half in Harry’s.

The rest of August went by quickly. Tom and Harry read through their new books, ate from their food stores when the Aunt forgot to feed them (which wasn’t as often as it once was), and tried to practice magic without the use of their wands. Harry had been worried about the trace, but Tom had reasoned that they’d done accidental magic all the time growing up, and no one had done anything, so it was likely only connected to wands. 

But try as they might, wandless magic wasn’t coming easy.

Tom was frustrated. He knew he could do wandless magic. He’d done it before. He’d fucking _transfigured_ the galleons with nothing but his intent, but he couldn’t even move an empty can of soup without a wand? They’d tried using incantations they’d learned from the books they had, which only proved slightly more successful.

The day after Tom’s solo trip to Diagon Alley, Harry came up with a name for his owl after reading through his _History of Magic_ book. He’d decided to call her Hedwig, after a German witch who went around healing children, magical and muggle alike. For her kindness, she’d been burned at the stake.

Tom, on the other hand, was drawing a blank. He wasn’t very good at naming things, and because he could only speak to snakes and not birds, he couldn’t ask the owl for his opinion.

Harry suggested naming him after some historical figure, which Tom figured was as good an idea as any. He began browsing his books for any names that stuck out to him. Tom didn’t really think naming the owl Ekrizdis or Merelius or any other dark wizard would go over well. He decided to look for something a bit more obscure.

In the end, he decided on the name Naomhan, after a wizard from the fifteenth century who was prolific in soul magic. He’d lived amongst muggles in rural Ireland and acted as healer until the Christian church accused him of blasphemy and necromancy. Some accounts said he was executed by the muggles, others said he had fled into the forest, never to be seen again, while others claimed he had slain all the churchmen. 

Tom thought it was an interesting story, and Naomhan was a nice name. The owl seemed to agree.

Tom was able to convince the Relatives to drive them to King’s Cross on September first when he pointed out that if they didn’t show, Hagrid would likely be sent to the house to pick them up in person. The Uncle and Aunt had paled at the mention of the giant man, while the Cousin had gone screaming out of the room. Tom had to control his facial features to make sure he didn’t grin at their terror. 

In the end, his self control was worth it, as the next day the Uncle had them load their trunks into the car. The trip to London was awkward, filled only with the Uncle’s muttering about magic and freakishness and ungrateful nephews.

Finally they made it to the station and just past ten in the morning. The Uncle stacked the two trunks onto a cart, and even wheeled it into the station for them, which was unusually kind of him. Tom didn’t trust it at all.

Of course that when the man pointed out there was no platform Nine and Three-Quarters with a vicious smile.

Harry looked about ready to panic, while Tom just glared. “Well you ain’t got any magic, do ya?” He sneered. “Of course you can’t see it.” He said with a nasty smile of his own.

The Uncle turned purple with rage, but wasn’t willing to cause a scene in public so he stormed off without another word.

Tom watched him go with glee.

“Tom.” Harry’s small voice pulled his attention back to his brother. “There isn’t anyfink ‘ere.” The younger glanced at the spot between platforms nine and ten.

Tom smiled at his brother, much kinder than the one he’d given the Uncle. “You sure?”

With one hand Tom took hold of the cart, with the other he twinned his fingers through his brother’s and pulled him toward the wall between the platforms.

Tom’s eyes didn’t stray from the red brick. He could feel the magic layer over it, the magic _behind it_ , ebbing and flowing like ocean waves. He opened his mouth and sucked it in, letting the taste of it settle over his tongue. It tasted like the Leaky Cauldron, like the entrance to Diagon Alley.

It tasted of concealment and hidden things.

Tom nodded at the wall. “The openin’s right there, it’s just ‘idden.” He bumped his forehead against Harry’s, pushing a swell of _love-trust-protect_ at him. “You trust me?”

Harry grinned back. “Always.”

The brothers stepped through the wall, their hands still clasped tightly together.

* * *

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was absolute chaos. People milled about, hugging and saying goodbyes to their children, cats ran about, owls shrieked, and all together it felt like pandemonium. 

The Hogwarts Express was a brilliant red, puffing merrily away in a throng of people dressed even more strangely than those at Diagon Alley. Tom briefly spotted an old woman with a stuffed _vulture_ on her hat. For some reason, the bird made him shudder.

The front carriages of the train were already packed full, with the others quickly filling up as well. Tom pulled Harry towards the back, eager to find a place to sit. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find Malfoy in all the chaos, but he’d made a promise, he should at least make an attempt to look for the blond.

Tom gazed around, looking for the signature head of white hair, but couldn’t find the other boy anywhere. He wasn’t about to go fighting through the front compartments looking for him, so Malfoy would just have to wait.

The brothers managed to find an empty compartment near the back. They helped each other load up their trunks, though it wasn’t easy with just two stick thin eleven year olds.

Thankfully, a pair of tall red headed twins showed up and offered assistance. Tom didn’t particularly like looking weak in front of strangers, but he also wasn’t about to pass up the help.

Harry grinned at the older boys, while Tom just gave a little nod.

“Thanks.” said Harry, wiping at his sweaty forehead. The two boys stared at the distinctive scar that peaked out from beneath the black curls.

“Blimey, are you-” started one twin.

“He _is._ ” Interrupted the other. “Aren’t you?”

Harry just looked confused. Tom stepped in between the two. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” He said.

The other pair of twins looked between the dark haired brothers. They seemed to come to a realization at the same time.

“You _are_.” They chorused.

“Fred? George?” Called a woman’s voice from outside, thankfully drawing the two away.

Tom still remained standing between Harry and the open compartment door, anxious and tense. A gentle hand grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a seat.

“It’s ok.” Harry told him. “You don’t have to protect me from everything.”

Tom looked at his brother with sad eyes. _But I do._ He thought to himself.

The two settled into their seats, Harry by the window, Tom next to him with the owl cages in the seat across to keep anyone from taking a seat too close if anyone else chose their compartment.

Harry leaned against the window to eavesdrop on the red haired family outside, while Tom didn’t particularly care. 

He did start to care when he heard one of the twins mention Harry’s name, to the apparent shock of his family.

“Is he really, Fred? How do you know?” asked the mother.

“Asked him. Saw his scar. He’s really got it, just like they say. Looks just like lightning. He was with his brother.”

“Oh poor dears. Just the two of them?”

Tom didn’t like the way they talked about Harry and him, like they were something to be _pitied_. 

“Do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?” Asked one twin. “Weren’t they both there? Maybe they both know.” Said the other. Tom decided he didn’t like either boy very much.

Nevermind the sick feeling he got at the mention of he man who tried to murder his brother.

At least the mother tore into the boys for that. Rude indeed.

The train began to move, and soon it was speeding off. Tom’s irritation slipped away, replaced with excitement. This, this here, it was the beginning of something _amazing_. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Looking at Harry, Tom saw his brother share in his eager smile.

Their moment of peace was interrupted with the compartment door sliding open and _another_ red haired boy stepping through. He looked younger than the twins had, about Tom and Harry’s age, though there was definitely some family resemblance. Tom assumed this was the brother of the older boys.

He didn’t particularly care for the disturbance.

“Anyone sitting there?” the boy asked, pointing to the seat opposite Harry and Tom where their owl cages sat. “Everywhere else is full.”

Tom was about to respond with a rude _yes_ , still not happy about how the boy’s brothers had spoken about Harry and him, but the younger Potter beat him to it. Harry reached over and picked up the owl cages, moving them to sit on the floor so the boy had more room.

The redhead grinned at Harry in thanks and took a seat. He kept glancing between Tom, Harry, and the window, as if trying not to seem like he was staring, though he was doing a terrible job of it.

Then the twins returned. _Lovely._

“Ron, we’re going down to the middle of the train. Lee’s got a giant tarantula, and we want to see.” 

The younger boy, evidently named Ron, mumbled something back.

The twins turned to Harry and Tom, and finally had the sense of mind to introduce themselves, not that it was really necessary at that point. Tom was at least able to add a last name to the red heads; Weasley.

When the older boys finally left the compartment fell into silence. It was broken a moment later by the younger Weasley boy.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” He blurted out.

Tom glared, while Harry just looked awkward. Weasley flushed bright red, as if realizing how rude he sounded. Harry gave a small, hesitant nod.

“Oh. Sorry, I just thought it might have been Fred and George pulling my leg. They’re like that.” He glanced at Harry’s forehead. “Have you really got the, you know…”

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?” Tom said. Weasley startled, as if he hadn’t really registered he was there.

“Er, sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. You’re, uh-”

“Tom Potter.” Tom answered.

Weasley blinked at him. “I thought your name was Henry?”

“It is. I prefer Tom.”

“Oh.” The boy looked down and his lap, then up at the window, then back to Tom and Harry. “It’s just, you’re a bit of a celebrity is all.” He shifted uncomfortably.

Harry, the little saint, decided to take pity on the boy.

“Is your whole family magical?” He asked with genuine curiosity. Tom guessed it wasn’t exactly a bad question to ask, even if all the boy’s blatant staring was pissing him off. Not like everyone else hadn’t already done that once they found out who he, and _especially_ Harry, were. It would just be something they had to get used to.

“Yeah, I think so.” Weasley answered. “Think mum has a second cousin or something who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”

Tom wondered what accounting had to do with anything, but didn’t bother to ask.

Harry brightened up. “So you must know loads of magic already then.”

Weasley hummed. “A bit. Not really supposed to do magic before Hogwarts. Mum and Dad didn’t teach me anything, not like some of the darker families do. But I did pick up a few things from my brothers. Just, couldn’t really practice without a wand, you know? And Mum would have my hide if she saw me practicing outside of school.”

He looked at Harry and Tom with interest. “I heard you went to live with muggles.”

Tom jolted. “People know that?”

“Er, well it’s just one thing I heard. No one really knows what happened to you after… you know. There were a lot of rumors. But Mum said that she’d heard you were sent to live with your muggle relatives, and she’s usually right about that sort of thing.”

So, people know, or at least had some idea, they’d grown up with the Dursleys. Did anyone know how they’d been treated? Did they know about the cupboard and the chores and the lack of food and Dudley’s bullying and Vernon’s fists and- 

Tom tore his mind away from that train of thought before it could spiral further. 

“Yeah, we live with our aunt and uncle and cousin.” Harry said. Tom could tell he was forcing his voice to be more cheerful than he felt. “They’re… pretty horrible actually. They don’t like magic much.” Harry grimaced. “Not that all muggles are bad. We think Aunt Petunia was jealous that Mum was a witch and she wasn’t, so she takes it out on us.”

Weasley looked horrified at that revelation. As if the Wizard World’s precious savior being mistreated by muggles was completely unbelievable.

Not liking the way the conversation was going, Tom decided to redirect the subject. He decided to move it back to Weasley. After all, everyone liked to talk about themselves. Well, maybe not Tom and Harry, but they were different. Besides, there looked to be some grievances between the youngest Weasley and his older brothers. Nothing distracted a person like complaining about their family.

“How many siblings do you have? We already met the twins, and I believe I heard another brother and a sister outside the train.”

“There’s seven of us.” said Weasley, like it was both the best and the worst thing. “I’m the sixth in the family to go to Hogwarts. I guess I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie already graduated. Bill was head boy, and Charlie was Quidditch captain. Now Percy’s prefect. Fred and George mess around, but they make really good marks. They’re wicked smart, and everyone thinks they’re funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they’ve already done it first.”

Well, Tom had succeeded in distracting him at least.

Weasley sighed. “You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill's old robes, and Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.” He said as he pulled a sleeping rat out of his jacket. It was fat and grey, and missing a finger on one little paw. 

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from dad for being made prefect, but they couldn’t aff- Er, I mean, I got Scabbers instead.” He said, his ears turning pink. 

Tom felt a bit of sympathy for the boy. Hand-me-downs were often ill fitting and worn, and the embarrassment of never having new things stung, as did having to admit you didn’t have money. A larger part of him wanted to rage and scream that he had so much else. He had parents who loved him, and were _alive,_ he had five brothers and a sister, and a house and food and clothes and a pet that no one would stomp to death. He didn’t look like he’d ever gone hungry, or had been locked outside all night in the middle of winter, or had to learn to avoid a flying drunk fist.

A dark, nasty thing coiled inside Tom. He suddenly hated all these children, and their perfect little lives. What did they know? What did they know of the world? Of hunger and loneliness? Of fear and of _death_?

Harry’s hand on his pulled Tom from his rage. He sucked a breath in through his nose. Tried to calm himself down. His dark eyes looked over at his brother, who was staring at him in concern. Tom realized with disgust that the ugly feeling in his chest was _jealousy_. Not at Weasley, and the things he had, and his easy life. Not really.

He was jealous that Harry was making a friend.

He wanted his brother all to himself.

Looking at Harry, knowing how much he craved friendship and acceptance, Tom hated himself. As much as he wanted to keep Harry all to himself, he couldn’t do that to his brother.

Harry deserved friends.

Far more than he deserved Tom.

* * *

They talked more. Well, Harry and Weasley _(Ron, call him Ron, if he’ going to be Harry’s friend, you should at least try to call him by his bloody name)_ talked, while Tom sat and listened, and would interject every once in a while when prompted by Harry. 

Still, Tom learned a lot from just listening. He’d noted Wea- Ron’s shock at hearing the dark lord’s name spoken out loud (and ignored his own minor flinch at hearing it). Apparently it was taboo to say the name aloud, and not just a Hagrid thing. He also found out that there was a decent percentage of students who were muggleborn, and who would be just as clueless and he and Harry. He also found out that the muggleborn wouldn’t be given any sort of extra lessons to catch them up, which didn’t seem fair. They’d have to make up for eleven years of growing up outside the world of magic, while pureblood and halfblood children raised by magical parents were given an advantage. 

It was added to the growing list of things that Tom thought was wrong with the magical world. Things that he planned to change.

Wea- Ron, _Ron_ told them a bit about what his father did for a living, and what he knew about the Ministry (which wasn’t much). He’d dshared that his oldest brother Bill was studying to be a curse breaker, while Charlie was apprenticing at a dragon preserve somewhere. Harry was incredibly interested in hearing about the dragons, though Weasley didn’t know too much. 

Tom was much more interested in the topic of curse breaking. Sadly, Weasley didn’t know much about that either.

Around noon a woman came by with a cart full of sweets. Harry bought some of everything with his new bunce, much to his delight. He then insisted on sharing his bounty with both Tom and Ron. The redhead was hesitant at first, but he’d soon learn Harry was a persistent little cowson. Once he set his mind to something, there really was no stopping him. He could, however, be sometimes redirected, though Tom was confident he was the only one apt at Harry-wrangling.

They are through the pile of sweet in relative silence. Tom made sure to stay away from _Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans,_ which looked revolting (he’d later find out after Harry tried one that they were).

Weasley explained chocolate frogs, and the trading cards inside. Harry got a card of Albus Dumbeldore, who’s picture made fury rise in Tom, though he was quick to tamper it down, lest he upset Harry again. 

Tom wondered, absently, _why_ Dumbeldore made him so furious, and oddly… _afraid._

Tom distracted himself by learning about more historic wizards like Circe and Merlin, who apparently had actually been real people and not mere myth. 

Later a round faced boy who’d been with the old vulture-hatted woman showed up with a girl sporting wild curly hair, asking about a toad. Tom suggested asking an older student or a prefect, who might know a spell to locate said toad. The boy brightened and ran off with a stuttered thank you, the girl following behind at a slower pace. Weasley looked at Tom as if his opinion on the dark eyed boy had suddenly changed entirely, while Harry just grinned.

The older Potter nudged his brother with his elbow. “That’s my one good deed of the day, so don’t get used to it. Remember, I’m the evil twin.” Harry just grinned wider.

The girl came back a while later, to tell them Trevor the Toad had been found safe and sound. She decided to stick around when she saw that Weasley was planning on performing a spell, which in the end did absolutely nothing.

The new girl, Hermione Granger, was incredibly intelligent, to the point of insufferability. She didn’t realize it, but she had a habit of talking a person’s ear off. Tom found that, once he got past her tendency to assume everyone _else_ was just as intelligent and bookish as she was, he quite liked her. She was at least smart enough to hold an interesting conversation, and he ended up debating her over magical theory, something that Tom had done quite a bit of reading on since his two trips to the Alley. Granger, on the other hand, looked entirely unprepared for the conversation. But rather than get overwhelmed, she met the challenge head on and devoured every bit of information Tom gave her. 

Tom decided she would be fun to keep around.

Harry and Weasley were chatting with each other while Tom did his best to break Granger’s mind (all in good fun, of course) when their conversation somehow got around to the subject of Gringotts.

“Did you hear? It's been all over the _Prophet_.” Weasley said. “Someone tried to rob a high security vault.

Tom and Granger broke off their debate to listen in.

“What happened to them?” Harry asked with something like dread. Tom imagined he was remembering the vault that sucked the thief inside to slowly die. He knew he was.

“Nothing, that’s the thing. Whoever it was hasn’t been caught. It’s why it’s such big news. My dad said it must have been some powerful dark wizard to break in like that, but the thing is, they don’t think they took anything. That’s the strange thing. Why break in and not take anything?”

“To see if you could?” Harry guessed with a shrug.

Weasley looked about to answer when the door slid open yet again. Tom was starting to get very tired of it. He retracted that thought somewhat when he was who had opened the compartment, but only somewhat.

“ _There_ you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Malfoy said with a scowl. He stood with crossed arms between a pair of large meaty boys who resembled the Cousin in both appearance and intelligence.

Tom gave him a lazy grin. “I apologize. I tried looking for you, but we arrived a bit late, and the crowd had gotten something awful. Didn’t really feel like dragging Harry through that mess with the whole _fame_ thing. Would have been a nightmare.”

Malfoy pursed his lips, but gave a slight nod anyway. Excuse accepted. He promptly sat down next to Tom and across from Granger. The two large boys stayed standing in the doorway.

Malfoy looked back at the boys. “You can head back to the other compartment. It’s getting a bit crowded in here.” He told them. 

Once the two large boys had left, Tom asked, “Who are they?”

“Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle. Their fathers are friends with mine, so I’m friends with them.” Tom nodded. Pureblood politics.

Malfoy looked around at the other children in the compartment. His nose wrinkled like he’d smelled something fowl when his gaze landed on Weasley, an expression the redhead returned.

“Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.” Tom introduced for them. “I’m afraid Harry’s already imprinted on Weasley, so there won’t be any getting rid of him now.”

The aforementioned ginger looked offended, but Harry laughed. “Tom’s just teasing.” He told Weasley. “Don’t worry, he likes you.”

Weasley looked unsure.

“Granger isn’t a wizard name. Are you a halfblood?” Malfoy asked the girl.

“Muggleborn, actually.”

The pale haired wizard looked horrified. Tom knew what was coming next, and wanted to hear none of it. He smacked the back of Malfoy’s shock-white head before he could say anything stupid.

“What was that for?” Malfoy cried.

“To keep you from putting your foot in your mouth.” Tom told him. “Answer me this, would you rather a pretty wand, or a powerful one?”

“I- what?” Malfoy asked oh so eloquently. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Tom signed out of his nose. “Just answer the question.”

“Well, powerful of course. What use is a pretty wand if it doesn’t work? In the end, power is what’s important.”

Tom nodded. “Exactly. Now if that’s what you believe about wands, why not apply it to people?”

“I’m… not sure I follow.”

Tom leaned forward and locked eyes with Malfoy. “I’m saying, what does someone’s blood matter, compared to power? Who cares if they’re pureblood, halfblood, or muggleborn, if they’re stronger than you? _All_ that should matter, is power, in whatever form it takes.”

“No, but… but blood purity is _important-_ ”

“Says who?”

“Says- says everyone! Purebloods are stronger than mudbloods, everyone knows that!”

Tom ignored Weasley’s horrified gasp, dark eyes still staring into Malfoy’s confused blue ones.

“My mother used blood magic and her own life to save my brother from the most powerful dark lord seen in an age, and _she_ was a mudblood. Do you really think a one year old baby could kill an adult wizard? Could do anything to deflect a _killing curse_ ? No, a _mudblood_ killed your dark lord. So I ask again, who cares about blood purity, over _power_?”

Malfoy was shocked speechless, as was everyone else in the compartment. Tom leaned back, finally breaking eye contact.

“I don’t _care_ about blood. Pureblood, halfblood, _mudblood,_ it doesn’t _matter._ We’re all magic. Every one of us. You, me, Granger, _everyone,_ has just as much right to it because _it is us._ ” There was something wild in Tom’s eyes, in his veins. Malfoy stared at him in shock, in open, blatant awe. 

Everyone in the train car hung onto his every word.

“ _Fuck_ blood purity, _fuck_ the old world and the divide they made between us. We’re a crumbling people with extinct families and empty vaults and graveyards full of our dead from _stupid_ wars about who should have magic when it’s _not our decision_. There’s few enough as is, why make it even less? Why cut off another limb when you're already missing three?”

He took a deep breath. “If you were dying, would you want the pretty little ornament, or the wand with the power to save you? Would you rather a wizard with the purest lineage, but barely a drop of magic and a single brain cell to rub together, or a mudblood witch who could kill a dark lord?”

He looked back at Malfoy, who looked as if his entire world was imploding around him.

“Do you want purity, or power?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Naomhan is pronounced nee-vahn. It’s an old Celtic name meaning Saint/Holy.  
> -I made up both the storied about Hedwig and Naomhan. I’m going to be incorporating a lot of my own lore into this story, and adding to the world building, so uh, be prepared for that. I’ve stolen JKR’s sandbox, and I’m rubbing my trans hands aaaaaall over it and building myself the biggest castle ever. My toys now.  
> -for this chapter I had to research 1) England’s public transportation system, 2) UK geography, 3) the exchange rate of gold in the early 90s, 4) the size and weight of solid gold coins, and 5) Irish folklore. I also did a few hours research into the Roman invasion of Great Britain and different branches of theology, but didn’t end up using them, rip. So yeah, lots of research. I currently have... 28 tabs open with things I’ve been referencing. 
> 
> I promise there’s a reason why Tom’s power level is all over the place. I swear there is a madness to my method. And it’s angsty as fuck.  
> Yay, we have Ron and Hermione now! And Draco’s back! Also Tom’s little speech at the end. Already radicalizing the youth. *wipes away a tear* they grow up so fast. Tom’s definitely going to make some waves at Hogwarts. There’s a reason I considered aspen wood for him. A wand for revolutionaries indeed.
> 
> So, I’m going to try and pace myself and only post once a week, instead of this crazy spermatic thing I’ve been doing (seriously, it’s 1 am right now). So I’m thinking I’m going to try and post a new chapter every Friday. We’ll see how it goes. I’m also going to try and write chapters ahead of time so I have back up chapters to post. So far I’ve just been writing them, editing, then posting as soon as I’m done. Not exactly the best practice.  
> Oh, some forewarning, this story’s rating will eventually be raised to M, mostly for graphic violence and probably bits of gore. I’m just waiting to change it until I actually get to that point. Not really planning on doing anything shippy. Might have some background ships, but nothing for Tom. I personally head canon him as aro/ace, so yeah, no romance planned.
> 
> Oh, I’ve been contemplating writing a side story for this one, that covers other character’s (mostly Harry) POVs of the events of Empiricist. It won’t be everything, but a couple of scenes where it’d be interesting to see it from the eyes of someone other than Tom. I’d probably wait until more chapters are published to post it, so I don’t spoil anything. I’d also be open to requests, if there anything specific anyone wants to see.
> 
> See you guys next week, and I hope everyone takes care. Love you guys, and thanks again for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments. They seriously make my life worth living. (JK, I’m only a little bit depressed, I promise. It’s not like my comfort character is Tom Riddle or anything...)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://ezra-millers-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) or check out my [fandom artblog](https://carlistyl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Next chapter: Hogwarts, and the sorting!


	5. And the Backs of my Eyes Hum with things I’ve Never Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting Hat remembers
> 
> Chapter title from Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for Tom having a panic attack, general self loathing, and a very, very brief mention of underage prostitution (‘on the bash’ is 30s/40s slang for sex work)

* * *

* * *

  
Malfoy hadn’t had an answer for him. None of them had. But Tom had given them much to think on. He’d lit a fire inside them, a desire for change. For _better._

He sat back and watched them ponder. Beside him, Harry watched, and smiled. Malfoy was the first to break from his stupor. He asked around for parchment and a quill to pen a letter to his father. Granger was the first to respond, blinking as if coming out of a dream. She searched through her bag until she took out a leather bound notebook and a nice metal fountain pen, then handed them over to the young Malfoy. To Tom’s surprise, the blond boy had taken the offered materials without any fuss, instead offering her a soft thank you. There was still obvious hesitation in his actions, but what Tom had said seemed to have sunk in. Malfoy didn’t seem to quite know what to make of the pen, but figured it out quickly enough.

While Malfoy wrote, Granger very hesitantly asked what ‘mudblood’ meant. Weasley was the one to explain it, as the other pureblood was too absorbed in his writing to notice what was going on around him.

With Weasley’s explanation, Granger’s face fell. The young witch seemed to come to the realization that much of the new world she was entering into would be bigoted against her for the simple crime of having non magical parents. She looked devastated, but then her resolve hardened. Her small fist clenched and she looked Tom in the eyes.

“We can make it better, can’t we?” It wasn’t really a question. More of a demand. Ordering him to follow through with his promise.

“We can.” He swore to her. “It’ll take time, and hard work. It won’t be easy, but we can.”

A fire burning in her eyes, Granger nodded. “Where do we even start?”

Tom looked out the window at the dark landscape melting into the silhouette of building as the train began to slow.

“Right here.” A smile spread across his face. “Children are the building blocks of the future. What better place to start a revolution than a school?”

* * *

They dressed in their robes and left the train together, leaving their belongings behind as instructed. It was dark on the train platform, aside from a collection of glowing torches. Tom could fainting make out buildings in the distance one way, and a thick forest to the other. Hagrid’s booming call of “Firs’ years!” drew them toward the trees. 

The giant man led the group of eleven year olds through a path in the forest, while the rest of the students split off another way. The path led them to the shore of a massive lake, and past that, Hogwarts _._

The huge stone castle felt like _home_ in a way that nothing else, save maybe Harry, ever had. Tom looked at the twinkling lights and spiraling towers and felt belonging. It was familiar, so familiar. He knew for a fact he’d been here before, once upon a lifetime ago.

They were told only four to a boat. Malfoy offered to ride with some other first years he knew. It would be better for appearances to arrive with them anyway, he had reasoned. Weasley had looked a mix of offended and relieved at that.

Tom nodded and saw him off, then climbed in to sit beside his brother in their own boat, Weasley and Granger across from them.

Ropes on the boats pulled taunt, and they were off, slowly moving toward the looming castle. Tom absently wondered what might be pulling them. Magic? Or something else entirely?

They docked in a cave beneath the massive stone building, then followed behind Hagrid up flights of carved stairs. All the children were silent on the climb up, too nervous to chat amongst each other.

Finally they made it to the open, deposited out in a wide courtyard, the huge oak doors of Hogwarts’ front gate looming over them. Hagrid banged on the doors with a resounding boom, and they swung open wide.

Beyond them was a tall black haired witch dressed in flowing green robes. Hagrid addressed her as Professor McGonagall, a name Tom recognized from his Hogwarts letter. The witch led them into the school, past the great hall full of chattering children, and into a side room. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” she told them with a stern Scottish accent. “The start of term banquet will begin soon, but before you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you will have to be sorted into your houses. The Sorting Ceremony is incredibly important. While you are here, your house will be like your family. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.”

Harry’s hand found Tom’s. He felt a sudden flash of worry that they’d be split up. They’d never been apart for long, not ever in their lives. They still slept in the same bed. What if they got different houses? Tom tried to tell himself not to worry, that they were one person, one soul, in two bodies. They were twins. There was no way they’d be split up. They couldn’t.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few moments, in front of the entire school.” McGonagall continued. “I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you wait.”

Her sharp eyes settled over some of the more disheveled children. “I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” Then she was gone, leaving a host of a few dozen children alone and unsupervised. Tom thought that was a terrible idea.

“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” Harry asked beside Tom, their hands still clasped tight.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.” The red head didn’t sound too sure.

Tom felt a spike of panic from Harry. It fed back into Tom’s own nerves. He didn’t know if he could perform magic in front of the whole school. He’d never used his wand before, he could only seem to do wandless magic on command when he was alone. He’d fail, and be sent back to Number Four and locked in the cupboard to starve to death, his bones forgotten and rotting away while Harry stayed at Hogwarts and learned magic and didn’t _need him anymore-_

A long buried memory reared its head, strangling the weeds of Tom’s panic before their thorns could sprout.

“A magic hat reads your mind and decides which house you’d be best in.” He blurted out, loud enough for most of the children to hear him.

Weasley looked at him curiously. “How do you know?”

“I read it in a book I got from Diagon.” Tom lied.

Malfoy took that moment to waltz up beside the others. “He’s right. My father says that every student has the enchanted old hat placed on their head. It was charmed to read your character, what you’re good at, what you want, and decides where you best fit based on your personality.” 

Harry let out a relieved sigh. His grip on Tom’s hand suddenly wasn’t so strong.

Tom gave Harry’s shoulder a gentle bump of his own, flashing a small smile reserved only for him. Harry smiled in return, leaning up against Tom’s side, _love-joy-excitement_ flowing off him in waves.

Of course that’s when the ghosts decided to come out.

The children all jumped and screamed. Even Malfoy seemed shocked at twenty something transparent blue-white figures floating by. 

Professor McGonagall returned and shooed the ghosts off. She then turned to the first years and had them follow behind her single file. Tom found himself behind Malfoy, with Harry behind himself, their hands still held tight. They remained locked together on their trek into the Great Hall. Harry gasped behind him as soon as they stepped into the huge room. Tom could certainly understand the awe, it was breathtaking. 

It reminded him faintly of a great stone cathedral, but there was no stained glass, no crossed. It wasn’t oppressive and full of a bitter air either. Instead of fear, Tom couldn’t help but feel comfort here. Candles floated by overhead and the ceiling was charmed to look like the night sky outside. Tapestries hung from the walls, and ornate windows let the moonlight in.

There were four long tables, full of students of all ages, and a fifth ahead of them were the school staff sat. Tom thought it looked sparse for the number of teachers surely needed for a school of Hogwarts’ size. At the head of the table was an old man with long white hair and beard.

Dumbledore.

Terror and rage spiked inside Tom. He didn’t know where it came from, or why he felt it, but there was something about the headmaster that made him want to gouge the old man’s eyes out. He very deliberately avoided looking into said eyes. There was something about the wizard’s gaze that made Tom’s skin crawl.

Instead, he tried to focus on the rest of the room.

Ahead of them, McGonagall stood beside a four legged stool, a worn ratty hat in hand. She set it gently on the stool. Then, the hat began to sing.

There was something nostalgic about it all. Tom wondered what he felt, the last time he was here. Was he as nervous as he was now? Was he alone? He didn’t think his past life had a Harry in it. He figured it would have been happier if he had. Sometimes he could nearly taste the bittersweet longings of that poor, lonely boy he’d been.

Everyone politely applauded the hat’s singing, then the sorting began.

They were called up one by one, alphabetically by last name. McGonagall would place the hat on a student’s head, and after a few moments of silence, it would call out the name of one of the four houses. Then the child would run over to their new housemates and sit at the table, their robes changing to match the colors of their peers. It was all very simple.

It didn’t stop nerves from clamping Tom’s throat closed so he could barely breathe.

Granger was the first of their little group to be called up. She practically ran up in her excitement. The hat deliberated for a while, but eventually it called out “GRYFFINDOR!” much to the red table’s joy.

Tom’s nerves began to mount. He’d lived this before, hadn’t he? He’d been a wizard, that last life. Everything was familiar, so tantalizingly familiar, but not clear enough for him to place. To know _who he was_ or how he’d died. What if, what if he couldn’t be sorted again? What if something went wrong? What if the hat _told._ What if it ratted him out, and told someone he’d done this before, that he’d once been a student here and that he didn’t belong here anymore, he’d gotten his chance?

What if it looked inside him and saw the rot that he knew was there, and declared him unworthy?

The only thing keeping Tom from completely panicking was the firm press of his brother’s hand against his. 

Tom could barely focus when Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin. More students were called up. Tom wasn’t paying attention. He could barely think. He had to come up with a contingency plan. If the hat looked into his head and saw who he’d been, what would it do? What _could_ it do? Tell someone? Tell Dumbledore?

Tom thought if it did, that might as well be a death sentence.

Could he block it? Close it off from his memories? Keep the hat’s magic out of the _before_?

“Potter, Harry!”

Tom’s heart stuttered in his chest. Harry gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then let go. He desperately wanted to grab that hand again. Grab it and never let go. They had to run, they had to leave. Everyone was going to find out, and then Harry would never forgive him. 

Tom was frozen still.

Harry stepped up. Sat on the stool. Tom’s brain screamed. _Run. Run._ He couldn’t move. The hat was silent. Sound seemed to fade out. He could only hear his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears.

He could run up there, grab Harry, run away. They could learn magic on their own. They could make it on their own. No Dursleys, no adults, no Dumbledore. Just Harry. Just Tom.

He could earn money, take care of his brother. He’d survived on his own before. He’d wandered those bombed out London streets with nothing but a wand he couldn’t use and the clothes on his back and he’d survived. It’d been painful and humiliating and made him sick to think about, didn’t want to ever go on the bash again, but he could do it, he did it before he could do it again. They’d run and they’d leave and they’d never come back and there’d be no need for anyone to find out, Tom could stay oblivious, he’d never have to think about what he did, and Harry would never find out and would never leave him they could be together like they were meant to be and never have to face the truth he knew-

“GRYFFINDOR!” thundered the hat.

Harry looked at Tom with something like horror as he slowly made his way toward the red and gold table with Granger, and Tom felt like his soul was just ripped out. It was an oddly familiar sensation.

“Potter, Henry!”

He had to run.

He had nowhere to go.

A shove on his back. Tom took a step forward. Another. He felt like he was walking to his own execution, deadly nevergreen before him, nooses swaying. His body wouldn’t obey him. Wouldn’t let him flee.

He sat in the stool against his own will, felt the hat be placed on his head.

He prepared himself for the worst.

 _“Well, hello there. My, there’s no need to be this terrified.”_ said a voice in Tom’s head that made him flinch. Violently.

McGonagall looked at him in concern, not that Tom was really paying attention to her. His whole focus was on the _thing_ in his _head_. 

_“My, my, occlumency shields already? Advanced are we? Not that those work on me.”_ Tom felt something slip past, filter through his thoughts like water. He thought he might throw up.

_“Oh… well then. That’s interesting. I thought you felt familiar.”_

Tom began to shake.

_“Don’t worry child, I am bound by magic not to tell anyone what I see when I do my job. Your secret is safe with me. Quite interesting to see you again Tom. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”_

Tom didn’t know what feeling was stronger, relief or terror. It knew. _It knew._

But it can’t do anything about it.

_“Hmm, well, cunning as ever. I think you might be even more ambitious than you were the first time. Yes, yes, I know exactly where to put you.”_

_Please_ , Tom interrupted. _Please put me with my brother. Please, don’t separate me from Harry._

The hat was quiet for a moment. It felt… remorseful, almost. _“I am sorry, but that’s not something I can do. My job is to put a student where they fit best. I can take their wishes into account, but at the end of the day, I must put them in a house where they belong. And you, well, you are not a Gryffindor.”_

 _Please,_ Tom begged, _I can’t… I can’t be without him. I don’t know what would happen… we’ve never… he makes me… he makes me_ good. _I want to be good. I don’t want to be evil anymore._

 _“Oh Tom.”_ The hat sounded so _sad. “You were never_ **_evil_ ** . _The things you did were, yes, but no one is born evil. Not even you. No, you weren’t evil. But you were so, so afraid. I promise, your brother will stay with you. You will still be together. I don’t think there’s anything that could keep you two apart, except for each other.”_

Tom’s eyes burned. He hadn’t cried. Not in years. Why was he nearly crying now?

_“You’re going to do great things, Tom. Terrible, beautiful, great things. To start you on that path, it’d best be-”_

“SLYTHERIN!”

Before the hat was taken from his head, it told Tom one last thing. _“I am glad that you were given a second chance.”_

Tom stood on shaking feet. He ignored everything around him. The whispers of the students, the burning gaze of the headmaster, the _terror-sorrow-regret_ from Harry.

He could only focus on taking one step forward, then the next, the next, until he sat beside Malfoy at the Slytherin table, dressed in familiar silver and green.

He suddenly hated the color.

Dinner was quiet. Malfoy tried to get him to talk, tried to introduce him to the other students, but Tom couldn’t bother himself. He’d make an effort later, for now he was focusing on not falling apart like he so desperately wanted to do.

This had been a mistake.

Harry was in Gryffindor. Harry was in another house, _away from Tom._ He didn’t… he didn’t want to be alone again. They’d have some classes together, he tried to tell himself. They’d see each other during free hours, and weekends. There were no rules against sitting at other houses tables, were there? He could go sit with Harry at meal times. 

He’d have to sleep alone, in a strange empty bed. He wouldn’t have his brother beside him. He wouldn’t have anyone to hold him after the nightmares, to remind him he was _here_ and he was _alive._ He wouldn’t have Harry’s brightness and joy and comfort to keep his darkness at bay.

Tom felt like he’d woken up to find the sun would never rise again. That he’d live the rest of his pitiful life in the cold dark.

He couldn’t bring himself to eat anything that night. Not that hunger wasn’t anything new. He could go without a few meals.

He didn’t think he could live without his brother.

They were dismissed after the meal. Tom wasn’t given the chance to even say goodbye to Harry, or wish him goodnight. Instead he was dragged along with the other first years, following behind a group of older students to the dungeons, where they would be living. The path felt familiar. The walls, the stairs, the tapestries. It all felt so familiar.

Tom didn’t want it to be familiar. Familiar meant remembering. It meant knowing what had happened _before._

Meant discovering whatever it was he had done that made him want to peel his own flesh off in disgust. It was so much easier to pretend that Tom Potter was all he’d ever been. That this was his first time to Hogwarts, he’d never held a wand before, never met Hagrid or Dumbledore before once in his entire existence. That the memories didn’t exist.

If he buried it deep enough, maybe it would be true.

He ignored the familiarity of the dungeons, the common room, the four postered beds. He ignored how laying down on that too soft mattress felt like coming home, and willed himself to fall asleep.

He lay there awake late into the night. When he finally slipped into unconsciousness, it was only nightmares that greeted him.

* * *

  
Tom awoke the next morning with dried tears sticky on his face and no memory of what he dreamed about. It was probably for the best, the not remembering. He was awake far earlier than any of his housemates, so there was no one to see his bloodshot eyes. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. It seemed years of being forced awake before daylight had its uses, even if Tom felt exhausted.

After making sure there was no evidence of his rough night on his face, Tom got dressed in his school robes. He was glad they were long enough to cover his feet. He hated wearing shoes. Tom packed a bag with a lovely fountain pen he’d bought in Diagon, as well as some quills just in case, blank notebooks and piles are parchment, and a few books for entertainment. He’d yet to get his class schedule, so he wasn’t sure what books to take. He’d have to go back and get them later once he knew. He slid the silver knife into a sheath on his leg, hidden below his pants, and his wand found its place in the holder on his arm. Ready for his first day, Tom headed up to the common room to wait until breakfast would be served and he could see Harry again.

Padding up the stone staircase, Tom once again tried to ignore how familiar everything around him was. He couldn’t escape the feeling once he stepped into the common room, however.

He hadn’t paid much attention to it the night before, too distraught to really take anything in, but now the large room set him at ease. It helped elevate the remaining distress he felt, made him calmer, more in control. It didn’t feel like his emotions were going to swallow him whole anymore.

With a more even head, Tom had the ability to actually take in everything around him and process it. The first thing he noticed was that, while the Slytherin dorms were deep underground, they were pleasantly warm. Might have been because of the roaring fireplaces everywhere, though Tom suspected magic might have a hand in the temperature as well.

The second thing he noticed was how dark everything was. It had a cozy, den like feel, rather than something frightening. A collection of candles, torche, and fireplaces provided flickering light. Mirrors and shiny metal weapons displayed on the walls bounced the light back, adding more illumination to the room. 

The walls were a dark stone, as were the floors. Tom didn’t have to worry about cold feet, however. Almost every bit of floor was covered in thick rugs. They were beautifully made with silver, white, green, and gold threads. Some seemed to have hints of teal and blue, while others had the occasional shade of orange or yellow, all woven in complex geometric designs. They were also incredibly warm beneath Tom’s bare feet.

Tom padded softly toward one of the many bookshelves lining the walls of the common room. What wall space wasn’t decorated with portraits, mirrors, or gleaming silver weapons, was absolutely filled with books. There was only one wall empty of decoration, though that was mostly because it wasn’t a wall at all, but a huge pane of glass separating the common room from the waters of the black lake. Tom 

let his gaze linger on the dark water for a moment, before turning his attention to the hundreds of books lining the shelves.

He trailed his fingers along the spines as he searched for something to read. A particular book caught his attention. It was thinner than most of the other books, but just as finely made. Bound in green dyed leather, silver leaf decorating the spine, it looked old and expensive. That wasn’t what captured Tom’s attention however. Instead, it was the title. The word printed on the spines was… _odd._ Tom could read it, technically, knew what the word meant, but at the same time he couldn’t decipher what the scrawl actually _was_. It was like recognizing a word in another language. 

He pulled the book off the shelf and took a seat in one of the green satin chairs furnishing the common room. Opening the book proved a similar experience. He could understand what was written, but something about the words themselves looked _wrong._

“Parseltongue?” He wondered aloud. Scanning the strange words, he quickly understood. The book was, _somehow,_ written in the language of snakes. Tom had no idea there was a written form of it, much less how his brain was making sense of the strange letters. They looked unlike anything he’d ever seen before. They flowed like cursive, but the characters themselves reminded him of Arabic, maybe. 

Parseltongue, it would seem, was what wizards called the language of snakes. According to the book, Tom was a parselmouth. 

He was still reading the book when the first of his house mates made it down to the common room. They barely paid Tom any attention, instead congregating into their own little cliques. Most left for the great hall as soon as their friends wandered down to join them, though a few loitered around with Tom, reading or chatting.

“What’s that?” Tom glanced up to see Malfoy peering down at him.

He shrugged. “Just a book I found.” 

Malfoy stared curiously at the cover. “I can’t understand what it says. What language is that?”

Tom shrugged again. He wasn’t about to advertise himself as a parselmouth, at least not just yet. According to the book, parseltongue was an incredibly rare talent, only passed on genetically rather than learned. It was also associated with the dark arts. Wouldn’t do to have it get out that Tom, or god forbid _Harry_ , was a parselmouth.

No, Tom would have to do a bit more research before he decided to tell anyone about his ability.

“Let’s head to breakfast.” He said as he stood and replaced the book. Malfoy still looked curious, but not enough to press Tom for answers.

The boys followed behind their older housemates up from the dungeon to the great hall, though Tom felt like he would know the way regardless. It was like his feet knew exactly where to go.

The great hall looked much the way it had the night before, though maybe not as crowded. Seemed some students had decided to sleep in.

Tom’s eyes immediately went to the Gryffindor table. Sure enough, there was Harry, looking awkward and fidgety beside Weasley.

“I’ll join you in a moment. I want to go see my brother first.” He told Malfoy, not waiting for an answer before he hurried over to the table of red and gold.

Glares of suspicion met Tom as he got closer. Not that he cared what the lions thought of him. The only person who’s opinion would ever truly matter was Harry.

Speaking of, his brother’s head snapped up as soon as Tom got close. He scrambled up and ran to Tom, wrapping him in a tight hug as soon as he got close. Tom returned the hug full force.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Tom. Didn’t mean ta,” Harry mumbled into Tom’s collar. “Didn’t want ta leave you. I’m sorry.”

Tom held his brother even tighter.

“Shut up.” He hissed. Harry froze against him, his green eyes wide and fearful.

“Never, _ever,_ apologize for something as _stupid_ as this, you hear? It’s _not_ your fault. Get that into your thick skull.” 

Harry’s hands flexed against Tom’s robes.

“No buts, idiot. I begged the hat to put me in Gryffindor with you. It refused. I do not blame you. This was _not your fault._ ”

Harry looked close to crying. “I asked for Slytherin.” He said. “I thought that’s where you would have been. I wanted to stick together, so I asked it for Slytherin. It said I would have been great there.” He whispered. “But it said it wouldn’t have been good for me. That’s why it put me in Gryffindor.”

Tom ran his thin fingers through Harry’s black curls. He leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “That is not your fault.” He told his brother firmly. “It’ll be ok. I promise. We won’t see each other as often as we’re used to, but I’ll find a way to be with you as much as I can. Even if I have to sneak into the Gryffindor dorms to do it.”

That got a smile out of Harry. “Can you stay?” He asked hesitantly.

Tom hesitated. “I haven’t exactly made the best impression with my housemates yet.” He said reluctantly. “I need to make a good impression with them. Galavanting over to Gryffindor isn’t going to do that.”

Harry’s face fell.

“How about this.” Tom said, “I’ll go play nice with the snakes for the first part of breakfast, then I’ll come here and sit with you for the rest. _And_ I’ll sit with you at lunch.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, but eventually gave a small nod.

“I’m not abandoning you.” Tom stressed, looking Harry in the eyes. “You know that, right? I’ll _never_ abandon you. You’re my better half, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Harry gave him a weak smile. “I know.”

Tom glanced over at the staring Gryffindors. Most of them quickly averted their gaze, but a few continued to blatantly watch the brothers.

“You better go back to your friends and finish eating.” He told Harry. “Make sure to eat as much as you want. Have to make up for lost time.”

Harry groaned. “Fine _mum._ ”

Tom scowled at his brother and gave him a playful shove toward the table. “Keep up that attitude and see if I sit with you later.” He threatened.

Harry grinned in response, much to Tom’s relief. “As if you could stay away that long. You’re like a mother hen, I swear you’d implode if you didn’t have something to brood over.”

Tom gave him another shove. “That’s it, I’ve changed my mind. I no longer have a twin. From here on out I’m an only child. You, Harry Potter, are dead to me.”

Harry tried to look affronted, but it was difficult when he couldn’t stop laughing. Tom smirked. Mission accomplished.

Harry went back to sit with Weasley and Granger while Tom made his way back to the Slytherin table. He ignored the curious looks of the other students as he walked away.

Malfoy waved Tom over as soon as he got near the green and silver table, gesturing to an open place beside him for Tom to sit at. The rest of their year mates had already arrived. He recognized the two large boys, Crabbe and Goyle, sitting beside Malfoy like miniature bodyguards.

The other children, Tom didn’t know. He’d tuned out Malfoy’s introductions the night before, nor had he paid any attention to their sorting. Well, he’d have to fix that, wouldn’t he?

Tom took a seat beside Malfoy and made himself a plate of eggs and toast. Anything richer than that and his stomach would probably revolt against him.

“How’s Harry?” Malfoy asked after Tom took his first bite.

He finished chewing before answering. “Not happy to be in separate houses, but neither am I. I promised to sit with him after I finished eating, as well as at lunch. We… aren’t exactly used to being apart.”

Malfoy made a sympathetic sound, though he didn’t really seem to understand. Tom glanced at the children sitting around him. There were three girls sitting across from Malfoy, one with dark hair and a small, pinched nose, one with short honey brown hair and wide hazel eyes, and the last a freckled blonde. Beside them was a thin, dark haired boy. To Tom’s right was a handsome, dark skinned boy, and then sitting a bit further away, a larger, curly haired girl.

Tom paused in his eating to address the unknown students. “I apologize, but I don’t think any of us have been properly introduced,” he told the other first years. “I was a bit out of sorts last night,” he said with a deliberately sheepish smile. “I’m Henry Potter, but I prefer to go by Tom, if you don’t mind.”

The dark haired girl was the first to respond. She leaned forward with a wide smile. “A pleasure, Tom. I’m Pansy Parkinson.”

“Daphne Greengrass.” said the blonde.

“Tracy Davis.” said the short haired girl.

The thin boy introduced himself as Theodore Nott with a stiff nod. The boy beside Tom gave him a charming smile and told him he was Blaise Zabini. Lastly, the girl on the far end was Millicent Bulstrode, who didn’t seem very interested in conversation at all.

Tom spoke with his fellow Slytherins for a bit, trying to get a judge of their character, measuring their worth.

Bulstrode and Nott were an awkward sort of quiet, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with themselves. Zabini was quiet as well, but in a more watchful, calculating way, while Parkinson and Malfoy were certainly the most outgoing of the group. Greengrass and Davis fell somewhere in the middle. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t bother to engage in conversation at all aside from the occasional one sentence input. They seemed more focused on stuffing their faces.

Parkinson, Tom noticed, was like Malfoy, trying to be loud and draw attention to themselves, as if to say, ‘hey, look at me, I’m important.’ Greengrass on the other hand, only spoke when she had something to say, rather than try to fill the silence. She was intelligent, and usually had something insightful to add to a conversation.

They were all incredibly unsure, Tom noticed, though they tried to cover it up in different ways. Zabini was definitely the best at putting up a confident front.

They were all so incredibly _young._

The group was midway through a conversation about each of their families and their professions when a tall man with long greasy black hair showed up to the Slytherin table and began handing sheets of parchment to the students. Tom faintly remembered him from the night before, sitting up at the staff stable.

“Is that the head of Slytherin?” Tom guessed.

Malfoy nodded. “Yeah, that’s Professor Snape. He teaches potions.” The blond grinned. “He’s the best.”

Tom decided he disagreed with that sentiment when, a moment later, Snape arrived and handed the first years their schedules. While Snape treated the other students with casual indifference (except Malfoy who got something almost like a smile from the man) Snape practically sneered at Tom. The man’s dark eyes glared down at him, and though he didn’t say anything, Tom could _feel_ his disdain.

Malfoy seemed confused at the treatment. “You’re a Slytherin. He shouldn’t treat you like that.”

Tom has some theories. Considering he’d never met the man before, it couldn’t have been anything he’d done. Tom thought maybe it was because his mother was muggleborn, but Bulstrode and Davis were both half-bloods, and Snape didn’t treat them any differently from the other students. So, not likely to be blood status then. But it _could_ have something to do with blood. After all, Tom was the twin of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“What side of the war was Professor Snape on?” Tom asked Malfoy softly.

The other boy startled at the question. He eyed Tom wearily. “That’s not really the kind of question you ask in public.” He hissed back.

“Yes, that’s why I’m whispering.” Tom said with an eye roll.

Malfoy hesitated. “Well, he certainly wasn’t fighting _against_ the Dark Lord, if you catch my meaning.”

So, a supporter then. That might explain the hostility. The question was, how much support had Snape given? Tom would definitely have to keep an eye on the potions Professor, lest he become a threat to Harry.

After eating, Tom managed to return to the Gryffindor table and sit with Harry for a bit before they were dismissed from the great hall. He told Harry what he had learned about the other Slytherins, as well as warned him about Snape’s hostility. Harry had responded by telling him his scar had stung last night at dinner, specifically after he noticed Snape glaring at him. 

Yes, Tom thought, Snape was definitely someone to keep an eye on.

All too soon, they had to leave for their first class. Thankfully, Tom was able to stay with Harry a bit longer, as the first class was potions, shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin. They’d have to split up for a moment to go grab their potions book and equipment, but they’d meet up again in the dungeons for their first ever wizard class.

Tom desperately hoped it would go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, 30k words and we only just got past the Sorting? Jeeeezus.  
> So yeah, a split the twins up. I thought it would be more interesting this way, as much as I love Slytherin!Harry. Plus, now Tom has an in into Gryffindor. Boy’s gotta network, he’s planning a revolution after all.  
> On the one hand, I feel like Tom got over the separation very quickly, on the other hand, the kid is very good at compartmentalizing. Sadly, it’s all going to build and build until he explodes. Tom, honey, you need to find healthier coping mechanisms.  
> So I definitely want to flesh out the Slytherin students more than we get in canon, expect to see a lot more of them. I’m very excited to explore Hogwarts classes. Tom is a total *nerd*, so he’s definitely going to be huge into magical theory. It’s going to be fun playing with the mechanics of how magic actually works, and all the ways Tom can find to break it. What do you guys think his favorite class will be? Least favorite? I’d love to hear your theories on where this is going.  
> Also, yes, Tom hating shoes is a nod to Voldemort always being barefoot in the movies.  
> I hope everyone had a good week, and is staying safe. Love you all. See you next Friday.
> 
> Edit: so I kinda forgot Tracy Davis existed. Whoops. In my defense, she’s not mentioned in the books at all. I only realized when I was making up a list of students in Tom and Harry’s year so I’d know what I’m dealing with. So yeah, I went on and added Tracy. I always like having more characters to play with.
> 
> Up next: Tom contemplated murdering a professor. Oddly enough, it’s not Snape.


	6. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes begin, and Tom decides to wage a one man war against a ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warning for this one, I don’t think.
> 
> ‘Kate and sydney’ is rhyming slang for steak and kidney.

* * *

* * *

  
Potions did not go well.

At all.

Though in truth, the disaster had begun even before the class started. Tom had to leave Harry and his friends and run back to the Slytherin dorms to grab his potions equipment. He first noticed the whispers on the way down to the dungeon. 

He hadn’t paid them any mind until he heard someone mention ‘The Scar’ and it had finally clicked. They were talking about Harry.

Of course they were.

Why hadn’t he considered this? The adult wizards had been practically drooling over Harry back in the Leaky Cauldron, not to mention the shocked, star struck reactions everyone had gotten when they were first introduced to Tom’s brother.

Harry was a _celebrity_. Just because they were trying to get an education didn’t change that. The students would be just as obsessed as the adults were.

Tom had glowered and hissed at anyone he heard whispering about The-Boy-Who-Loved. One glance at his green tie got him a scowl in return and a venomous “ _snake_ ” spat his way.

A few people seemed to recognize him as Harry’s twin. Those would awkwardly shut up when they realized he’d overheard them gossiping about his brother.

Tom was in a right foul mood by the time he got to his dorm and collected his potions text and cauldron. 

He’d given a curt greeting to his dorm mates also grabbing their school things, but didn’t bother to partake in conversation.

It was about quidditch anyway. 

He’d have to do something about Harry’s fame. While it could be a useful tool, he didn’t particularly like having his brother in the spotlight like that, considering how uncomfortable it made Harry. If only Tom had been labeled the Boy-Who-Loved instead. Not only would that get the spotlight off Harry, it would also redirect any leftover animosity from the deceased Dark Lord’s followers on Tom instead.

Alas, no such luck.

Tom was drawing a blank on how to draw people’s attention away from Harry. He couldn’t be with him constantly, so there was no way for him to redirect the attention himself. Ron Weasley didn’t seem to have the social finesse to do the job either, and as intelligent as Granger was, Tom doubted she would work either.

 _Why_ did Harry have to be stuck with the Gryffindor’s? Home of the brash idiots, from what Tom had gathered so far. Useless, the lot of them.

He’d have to do a bit of scouting, see if there was a competent Gryffindor Tom could use to keep an eye on his brother from within the house.

Tom stopped suddenly, realizing he’d arrived outside the potions lab. He’d been so absorbed in his thought that he hadn’t realized his feet had brought him there as if by instinct.

Tom viciously squashed down the thought _of course I know where the potions classroom is._ He refused to think about before.

He was the first to arrive, taking a seat in the middle of the classroom and two rows from the front. Close enough to get a good view, but not so close that they were in the immediate vicinity of the Professor. Given the apparent animosity between the snakes and the lions, Tom figured there would be very little intermingling between the houses. Still, he didn’t want his brother to be separated from his own house. Alienating him from Gryffindor would only hurt him.

The other Slytherins filtered in a few moments after Tom. As expected, they seated themselves to one side of the classroom, leaving the other open for the Gryffindors. Malfoy eyed the open seat beside Tom, but in the end decided to sit with Nott instead. Tom was greatful the blond understood the empty seat was reserved for Harry. Much less hassle.

Tom busied himself with taking out an empty journal for note taking and one of his fountain pens while he waited for the rest of the class to arrive. His choice of writing utensil got him odd looks from the pureblood students, not that he cared. Quills were so inconvenient. And messy.

Finally the Gryffindors showed in a swarm of red and gold. Tom wondered how far their dorm was from the dungeons as they settled in. Likely the other side of the castle, given how long it took them to arrive. Tom made a mental note to find out where dormitories were, and how to get in.

The little lions took their own seats on the empty side of the classroom. Tom counted nine in total, one less than his own house. Interesting.

Harry’s face lit up when he saw that Tom had saved him a seat. He broke from his new friends with a quick explanation of _“I’m sitting with my brother, sorry Ron,”_ and took a seat to Tom’s left. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” greeted Tom.

Harry snorted, but gave him a one armed hug anyway, which Tom happily returned. He couldn’t help but feel pleased about Harry’s clinginess. 

Unfortunately it would only cause problems in the long run. They would have to get used to being apart for long stretches of time. 

“Have you been able to find your way around alright?” Tom asked, doing his best to ignore the curious looks of the other students.

Harry shrugged. “I would if the staircases didn’t keep moving on their own. I had to ask a poirtrait what the easiest way to the dungeon was. She didn’t give very good directions though.”

Tom ruffled Harry’s mop of hair, much to his brother’s annoyance. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

All conversation in the classroom tapered off when a side door banged open and Professor Snape swept in. He seemed to glide through the room as he stalked to the front of the class, his dark eyes cataloguing each new student.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making.” Snape began, his voice a deep whisper amplified by the acoustics of the dungeon. The potions master cut himself an imposing figure. Tom found himself intrigued. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you are not as big a bunch of dumderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Tom was entirely entranced through the whole speech. It was obvious the man had a love of the potion arts. One didn’t talk about their subject like that without a deep adoration of it. 

Unfourtunatly the hostile glower the man sent towards the students (especially the Gryffindors) as he began to take roll, told Tom something else about the man.

Snape, it would seem, absolutely _loathed_ children.

Tom could work with that. 

However, the utter distaste in Snape’s voice once he got to Harry’s name made him reconsider that. So the Professor did have something against his brother after all.

Tom wondered if he’d be better off writing Snape off as a lost cause. Maybe if he were any other Professor, he’d take the loss and accept losing him as a resource. Sadly, Snape was the head of Slytherin. Tom knew he’d likely have to have regular interaction with the man.

The animosity he showed to Harry was unacceptable. Tom decided he had one of two courses to take. Either he found the cause of Snape’s aggression, and worked to reverse it and get in the man’s good graces (more difficult, but held the greater reward) or he made it apparent that any attack on Harry would have devastating consequences (easier done, but much greater risk). Tom didn’t think that threatening a professor would go over very well for him, so he was content to pursue the first option for the time being.

But the moment he felt Harry was in danger, all bets were off.

By the end of class, Tom was sorely tempted to follow through with his plan B. Snape had targeted Harry in particular, ridiculing him for his unwanted fame and asking him questions that were well above the first year curriculum. When Harry managed to get them right, he was called a know it all, when he didn’t, he was an idiot.

It made Tom seethe.

He pointedly raised his hand, eyes locked on Snape’s dark gaze. The Professor reluctantly let Tom ask his question.

“I was simply wondering, sir, why you expected a first year to know about a potion that we won’t be attempting to brew until our sixth year? If we end up taking the class, that is,” Tom asked, voice polite but eyes cold. “Draught of Living Death is incredibly advanced, and unfortunately I hogged Potions Moste Deadly during our summer reading, so Harry was unaware of its existence. I’ll be sure to let him borrow it so he can study enough to match your high expectations, sir.”

Snape made a face like he’d accidentally bitten into a lemon. Tom could tell the man desperately wanted to reprimand him, but the green on Tom’s robe stayed his hand. It seemed being a snake had its perks.

Snape refused to answer Tom’s pointed question. Instead, they were all set to work making a boils cure. Snape hovered around, criticizing and insulting as he went. Tom kept half an ear open. Hidden under the insults was genuinely good advice if one had the ability to decode it.

Most of his time, however, was spent explaining what he’d learned about potions to Harry.

“It’s like chemistry in a lot of ways, or maybe cooking, but with the added complication of ritual magic. That’s why things like how many times you stir, or what direction, are so important.” Harry watched with rapt attention as Tom talked him through the steps. “You have to follow the directions perfectly, or else the potion can go wrong. The amount of ingredients, the way they’re prepared, the heat of the fire, how long you wait between applications, it all matters.”

Tom noticed that most of the students around him were listening in as well. It was a sad day indeed when an eleven year old was doing more teaching than the actual Professor. Tom had a sinking feeling he was going to be doing a lot of that.

“When you crush your snake fangs, make sure it’s a very fine powder. Large chunks will react differently. I doubt it will be enough to ruin this potion, but in later assignments it will make a very big difference. It’s best to practice now when the stakes aren’t so high.”

In the end, Tom and Harry made a perfect potion, as did Malfoy and Nott, and Granger and her partner. Those who had overheard Tom’s instructions had managed above average, while a poor Gryffindor boy had somehow managed to melt his partner’s cauldron and got himself sent to the hospital wing. As incompetent as the boy seemed, he supposed it was mostly Snape’s fault for his abysmal teaching and habit of ridiculing students.

By the end of class, Tom decided Professor Snape was absolutely not cut out for teaching.

* * *

After Potions they had a quick break, which Tom spent by showing Harry where the Slytherin dorm entrance was. Tom decided not to risk bringing Harry inside just yet, but he wanted his brother to at least be able to find him if need be. 

Tom pestered Harry into revealing the location of the Gryffindor dorms, though he had to first swear not to abuse the information. Tom faked offense at the insinuation, to Harry’s deadpan look. The entrance to Gryffindor tower, it turned out, was on the seventh floor behind a portrait of a large woman wearing a pink dress. The lions called her the Fat Lady. Harry said he thought the name was rude. Tom told him it was an opera reference.

Soon enough, Harry and Tom had to split up yet again. Harry headed outside to the greenhouses for his first Herbology class with the Hufflepuffs, while Tom headed to the third floor for History of Magic, one of the classes he was most excited for right up there with Defense Against the Dark Art.

Forty five minutes later, Tom was ready to find a way to kill a ghost a second time.

“I can’t take it!” He practically wailed at Malfoy on their way down to the dungeons. “How could someone _possibly_ make history that _boring_?! It’s _history_ of _magic_?! That ghost is a menace. How could they possibly keep him on? He just drones on and on! And the subjects! Why would you decide to lecture on _Gargoyle Strikes_ of all things?! There are so much more interesting things out there to talk about!” He suddenly grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders, making them stop in the middle of the corridor. “Please, tell me there’s a way to get rid of him.”

Malfoy looked half panicked, but at the moment Tom didn’t give a damn. “I don’t think so. Once someone turns into a ghost, they’re stuck like that, I’m pretty sure.”

Tom held back a scream of anguish. He pushed past the blond and began heading the way he’d come.

“Where are you going?” Malfoy called from behind him.

“Library!” Tom yelled without looking back. “I’m going to find out how to kill a ghost!”

Tom spent the rest of his free period searching the library for any shred of information on how to get rid of Binns. 

He wasn’t able to find anything before lunch, even with Granger’s help. He’d run into her reading and after hearing he was searching for information on wizard ghosts, she’d immediately offered her assistance.

They finally called it quits just past noon and the two headed down to the great hall together for lunch. Tom listened with half an ear while the girl rambled on about her own research. Something about how ghosts were formed in the first place. Tom was more preoccupied with trying to figure out how to unmake them to really pay attention.

It didn’t seem possible to destroy a ghost, sadly. He could always check Knockturn Alley later to see if there was anything there, since it was possible the destruction of a ghost was considered dark magic. It wouldn’t really surprise Tom if that were the case. There was a glaring distinction made between dark and light magics in the wizarding world, though there were in actuality more similarities than differences between the two. Tom found the discrepancy both interesting and incredibly inconvenient. Especially considering the hostility aimed at anything perceived as ‘dark’. 

If killing the ghost didn’t work, Tom supposed he could always try and get him sacked. Malfoy’s father had Ministry ties, was on the board of governors, he would probably have the resources to get Binns fired. The blond hated the class too, though he (and everyone else) just used it to nap. Tom at least tried to pay attention to the lesson, even if every word out of Binn’s phantom, monotone mouth made him see red.

Tom decided, worst comes to worst, he’ll just have to self study. His schedule had enough free spots to allow that. Maybe he could whip up some sort of study guide for Harry. Tom already knew his brother was going to hate the class, though probably for different reasons than him.

Once at the great hall, Tom opted to follow Granger to the Gryffindor table rather than go sit with his fellow snakes. He’d made a promise, after all.

Harry was ecstatic to have Tom’s undivided attention for the entire lunch period. He started out by introducing Tom to the rest of his dorm mates, something he hadn’t gotten a chance to do at breakfast that morning. There was Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnagin and Neville Longbottom, who all seemed friendly enough, if a bit distrustful of a Slytherin. Tom being Harry’s twin worked in his favor at least, to soften the other boys' view of him.

Copying his overheard instructions in potions class hadn’t hurt either.

Tom was glad to see his brother making friends. He’d always been painfully shy, too scared to come out of his shell and be seen. But amongst the Gryffindors, it was like Harry was a whole other person. He smiled and laughed and played. The sight was almost enough to make Tom cry.

(Never mind the jealousy that poisoned that happiness. Why did Harry need other people, he had Tom. Wasn’t that enough? Why wasn’t he enough?) Tom tried to drown those thoughts in their cradle. 

Sadly, it seemed his demons could breathe underwater.

As comfortable as Harry was around his own yearmates, he was still awkward and unsure around the older students. Made sense, considering most of them still treated him like a celebrity while the younger students had mostly gotten over their starstruck.

An exception was the Weasleys. Once they realized their baby brother had decided to become best friends with little Harry Potter, the Weasley twins had all but adopted him. Tom found himself grateful, even if he was still perturbed to remember how they’d talked about Harry on the train. At least they had the decency to apologize for it, which was honestly more than Tom was expecting from the pranksters. 

Tom was introduced to the elder Weasley, Percy. He decided after the introduction that Percy was his favorite of the redheads. He was much easier to stomach than the twins, and wasn’t a total idiot, even if he “ _acted like he has a stick so far up his arse it’s poking out his nose”_ and “ _basically mum in miniature, a right terror he is”_ according Fred and George.

Tom was already considering employing the Prefect to keep an eye on Harry for him. 

Between bites of kate and sydney, Harry told him about Herbology and how different it was from taking care of the Aunt’s garden, while Tom regaled Harry with the horrors of History of Magic. The younger Gryffindors thought Tom was exaggerating, but when the twins and even Percy agreed that Binns was just that awful, there was a palpable sense of dread for their Wednesday class.

After lunch the brothers once more had to head their separate ways, Harry to Charms and Tom to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall was just as stern and severe as she had seemed at the Sorting, but she was also an excellent teacher. The first class was simply going over theory and wand movements. It wouldn’t be until their next class that they actually got to start on transfiguring, but Tom was already incredibly excited.

Charms was a similar experience. Professor Flitwick was talented in his art, and certainly followed McGonagall’s method of teaching rather than Snape or Binns, though Tom did find his voice irritating. Like with the previous class, Flitwick began with an overview of what their year would entail and a lecture on basic theory.

It wasn’t as complex as transfiguration, being magic used to manipulate objects rather than altering their form, but it was interesting nonetheless.

After charms, the Slytherins headed to the Astronomy classroom for their lecture class. The practical class would be Wednesday nights when they would do the actual stargazing.

After their last class was some free time before dinner began. Tom decided to drop his things off at his dorm then go searching for Harry. The two brothers spent the rest of the evening exploring the castle, though they made sure to avoid the right side third floor corridor. Tom hadn’t really paid attention the night before, but according to Harry, Dumbledore had warned against students going there or else they “ _die a very painful death”_. Tom theorized the warning likely had something to do with whatever Hagrid had taken from Gringotts, and possibly even the break in that had occurred. Honestly, what were the odds that Dumbledore would have one of his men take something ‘top secret’ from what was meant to be one of the most secure places in Britain, then said place is broken into but nothing taken, and then a whole section of the other most secure building in all of Britain is out of bounds?

Definitely suspicious.

That night Tom slept much easier than he had the one before. There were no nightmares waiting for him, but flashes of long lost memories played behind his eyes. Hagrid, younger, beardless, smiling and showing off a massive spider cradled gently in his hands.

Dumbledore, aumber haired and younger watching him suspiciously from the front of the Transfiguration classroom.

Sitting at the Slytherin table, tall, proud. Where he belonged, his knights flanking each side. Nothing could touch them. Nothing would stop them.

The hiss of scales scraping against stone, a massive body propelled forward with strong muscle. Poison green, glowing yellow eyes, a grinning maw of certain death for anyone but him. A whisper, like a kiss, _immortality_.

When Tom woke, the dreams slipped from his mind like sand in an hourglass.

* * *

The rest of the week went by in a blur. Transfiguration was just as brilliant as Tom had hoped. McGonagall had set them to work transforming a matchstick into a needle after a brief lecture. Tom was the first in the class to manage it, much to McGonagall’s delight. He earned Slytherin five points. Tom didn’t particularly care about the house cup but the grins he got from his fellow snakes made something warm bloom in his chest. He decided he quite liked winning house points.

Tom spent the rest of the class seeing if he could transfigure the match without his wand. He ended leaving for break with a wooden needle in his pocket and a drive to try again later.

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor was a let down, even if he did get to share a class with Harry again.

Professor Quirrell was somewhat competent beneath the stutter, but he was almost impossible to understand and it took him twice as long as he should to get through a single sentence. The class was tedious. Not to mention Tom’s irritation on the ‘against the dark arts’ part. Why just the dark arts? Why not defense against all sorts of magic? Surely there were ways to kill people with light magic too? Why not just teach them to defend themselves, period?

The whole thing tasted like government propaganda to him.

Tom, naturally, decided his best course of action was to discover as many horrible ways to maim and kill a person with light magic as he could.

To prove a point, of course.

No other reason.

After double History of Magic Tom was practically begging Malfoy to write his father and get the damn ghost sacked. An hour and half of listening to the cold fish drone on was agony. Tom didn’t think he’d be able to survive the whole year, much less the next six.

At least Tom had been able to get into Binns’ collection of books. The ghost hasn’t even noticed him wandering around the classroom reading through the different titles and stuffing any interesting ones in his bag. Binns hadn’t even glanced up during the blatant theft. Tom doubted the spirit would have reacted if a bomb went off in the classroom. At least he’d gotten some good books out of the ordeal. As torturously boring as the spirit was, he did have a rather fantastic library. 

Herbology was sweaty and dirty and honestly one of Tom’s least favorite subjects. It reminded him of toiling away in the front yard, digging up weeds and sucking the life out of whatever poor plant he could to get a shred of energy. 

Friday’s were mostly free for first years, with only flying lessons in the morning and a study hall in the library after lunch. Tom assumed the later was to ensure students got their homework done in a timely manner instead of leaving it for the night before.

Tom usually spent his study hall reading, either researching magic theory, searching for a way to kill Binns, or working on his History study guide with Granger’s help. Somehow the girl was able to pay attention in the class enough to actually take notes, something not even Tom was capable of.

He found himself enjoying the quiet of study hall, though a major factor might be that he spent the period beside Harry.

Flying classes, on the other hand, were evil.

It began with Tom’s broom refusing to lift when he told it up. Even Longbottom’s managed to roll on its side when the boy called for it.

Feeling like an idiot for yelling at a house cleaning tool, Tom decided to force the broom up with his magic. The broom didn’t seem to appreciate that. It flew up, right into Tom’s face. The cartilage of his nose gave way beneath the wood with a nasty _crack_! Tom stumbled back, blood already dripping down his face.

He gently touched the bridge of his nose. Definitely broken.

 _Lovely_.

He was sent to the hospital wing with blood dripping down his chin and onto his robes, drops of red trailing behind him as he walked. He tried stemming the flow as best he could, but it was a lost cause. 

Madam Pomfrey made quick work of stopping the bleeding and popping the cartilage back into place. She looked impressed when Tom barely flinched during the process. She even cleaned the blood off his face and robes with a simple wave of her wand. Tom tried to memorize the movement and incantation, but didn’t quite catch it in time. He’d have to look it up later. Cleaning up blood stains with a wand flick could prove very useful.

Before Tom could return to flying class, Madam Hooch showed up at the Hospital Wing, an injured Longbottom in tow. While Pomfrey set to work on Longbottom’s broken wrist, Hooch ordered Tom to wait until she could escort him back to class. They had to wait until the crying boy was put to rights to return to the pitch, so Tom ended up missing Harry’s suicidal flight all to save Longbottom’s little trinket.

Probably a good thing, or else Tom probably would have had a heart attack right there on the field.

He nearly had one on the way to lunch just from listening to everyone regale the story of how Malfoy goaded Harry into flying around without supervision “ _I’m sorry, alright! You were a natural on a broom, I wanted to see what you could do. I didn’t mean to drop the blasted remembrall!_ ” and how Harry had dove into a fucking free fall just to save a little glass bobble.

Then of course Harry had to go and tell him that McGonagall had given him permission to play Seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team.

Sometimes Tom really _really_ wanted to murder his idiot twin.

* * *

That afternoon, Harry- and by extension Tom- was invited to visit Hagrid down where he lived near the Forbidden Forest. Harry of course, accepted for them both, and invited Weasley along for the trip as well. So at just before 3 o’clock, the trio made their way down to Hagrid’s little hut. Well, it was little for the giant man at least. The house was pretty huge in comparison to the eleven year olds. 

Tom flinched back when Hagrid opened his front door and a massive slobbering boarhound tried to pounce on them. They were only saved from death via crushing by Hagrid half strangling the beast on its thick leather collar.

“ _Back_ , Fang, _back_!” Hagrid barked.

He pulled the dog out of the way and the three boys nervously stepped into the hut. Hagrid called a greeting and gestured for them to take a seat at his large oak table. The baying dog eventually settled enough to be released. It didn’t crush anyone, though it did make an attempt to drown Weasley in saliva. Tom noticed the dog kept a wide berth around him. He was grateful for it, but Fang’s obvious skittishness around him was… unnerving. At least no one else seemed to notice the hound’s odd behavior.

Hagrid busied himself with making tea, which was pretty good, and served them some cakes, which were not. They chatted about aimless things while the tea was passed out. Tom got a horrified look from Weasley when he put jam in his beverage, which Tom ignored. 

Eventually Hagrid and the redhead fell into a conversation about Charlie Weasley and dragons. A tap on Tom’s shoulder pulled his attention away from dragon preserves and to his brother beside him. Harry had a slip of torn paper in hand, which he laid out on the table in front of Tom. It was a clipping from the Daily Prophet. Tom’s eyes sharpened as he read the article. It was about the Gringotts break-in, reporting that the vault that had been broken into had been emptied earlier that day, which was why nothing had been stolen. There simply wasn’t anything left to steal.

Tom shared a look with his brother. Seems his theory had even more teeth then he first thought.

“Hagrid, what’s this?” Tom asked, lifting up the article.

The huge man did a double take at what Tom had in hand and paled. “Er, it’s nothing, don’ ye worry.”

“The break-in happened on our birthday, though. We might have been there when it happened.” Tom said with wide eyes. “We could have gotten caught up in it and hurt!”

Hagrid’s expression softened. “There’s nothing ter worry about now, Tom. Nothing happened. ‘Sides, the break-in happened after we left Diagon.”

Tom nodded and sent Hagrid a small relieved smile. “Do you have any idea what they might have been after?”

Hagrid gave another non-answer and sent them on their way shortly afterwards.

It was still more than enough information for Tom.

There was something on the third floor, and he wanted to find out what.

* * *

Tom lay on his back in bed, silently waiting for the minutes to tick by. His internal clock told him it was well past midnight, but he couldn’t sleep just yet. He had something he needed to do first.

Finally, after laying around for another half hour, Tom sat up. He pulled open his bed hanging and listened around the dorm room, but only silence greeted him. All his roommates were fast asleep.

Tom slipped out of bed and as softly as he could, made his way out of the dorm and up the stairs to the common room. Strange glowing lights illuminated the waters of the black lake, casting the common room in an eerie green glow. Tom glanced out the window as something massive swam past but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. Probably just the giant squid anyway.

He didn’t have time to sit and stare at the strange wildlife outside the glass, he had a mission.

Tom exited the dungeons on silent feet. As cold as the floors were beneath his bare soles, it at least kept him from making any sound.

Not a single thing stirred around him. It was late enough that even Flitch should be retiring soon, though his demon cat might still be out and about. Tom would have to be careful to avoid her.

The shadows are long and thick, cloaking most of the stone halls in darkness. Tom could step into them and disappear completely as he never existed in the first place. Casting a _lumos_ was too risky. Strangely, he didn’t seem to need one. Tom’s eyes adjusted to the dark well enough to get by without walking into any suits of armor.

He kept his steps light and swift as he made his way up the dorment staircases.

Tom felt his heart rate pick up once he leveled off on the third floor. Just a single right and a walk down that hallway and he’d be there.

Tom came to a stop.

The third floor corridor looked no different from any other part of the castle. A long hall lined with several doors, stone walls decorated in paintings and tapestries, the occasional suit of armor standing guard.

It was disappointingly bland.

However, every single door on the corridor was wide open.

All except one.

Tom crept closer, eyes scanning around him for boobytraps or guards. Nothing, it was just a simple door. Still, this seemed the most likely hiding place for whatever was taken from Gringotts. He tried the door.

Locked.

Tom hissed under his breath and unsheathed his wand. He cast a near silent _alohomora_. He honestly hadn’t expected the first year spell to work, and yet the door swung open just like that.

Tom hesitated to open it any further. Surely there’d be more protection than a simple lock that could be opened with a beginner spell. He cast his magic out, but didn’t feel anything insidious around the door. Then again, the magic around Hogwarts was so thick Tom felt like he was drowning in it at all times. It might be that he wasn’t able to notice a trap with the heavy wards clogging his senses. 

Tom poked the wood with his wand, and when nothing happened, pushed the door open wider so he could see past it.

He immediately froze.

Six beady black eyes stared back at him, slobbering jowls pulled back in a snarl, yellowed canines longer than his arm glinting in the meager light.

Tom slammed the door closed again and rushed away from the door, thundering barks following him as he fled back down to the dungeons.

What the _bleeding hell_ was a fucking _Cerberus_ doing in a _school_?!

And what on earth could be hidden in the trap door it was protecting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did you know that the canon school schedule makes NO FUCKING SENSE?! Either all the teachers have time turners, or they have clones, because multiple years have classes AT THE SAME TIME. I spent hours trying to work out a schedule that didn’t contradict itself.  
> I had to change things up a bit from canon on when classes are, but at least now it makes sense.  
> This was mostly a filler chapter, sorry. I’ll see about putting up chapter seven a bit early. We’ll be looking at some time skips, and then Halloween next time. I’m excited.  
> I went back and changed a few things last chapter, most notably I added Tracy Davis (I forgot she existed oop) and I decided to have Tom call Draco, Hermione, and Ron by their last names. I felt like it was out of character for him to be on a first name basis with them so soon. He’ll eventually feel close enough to refer to them by their first names, but the boy is slow to trust and tends to keep people at arms length.  
> So Tom being a History nerd is a direct result of his reincarnation situation. Having memories from the 1930s and 40s sent him on a research rabbit hole and he came out of it with a love of learning about the past. Plus, it’s incredibly useful to see where we’ve fucked up in the past to avoid making similar mistakes, something Tom could definitely stand to learn.  
> Once again, thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos. I cherish every single one of them. Have a lovely day and I’ll talk to you next time.


	7. There is No Water Here That Can Quench Your Thirsty Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom starts to swim, then he begins to drown. There’s a troll in the dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for brief mentions of child abuse, lots of drowning allegories, dissociation, and Tom killing the troll in a pretty graphic way (see end note for more)

* * *

* * *

  
After the discovery of the Cerberus and the trap door it guarded, Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. So rather than climbing back into bed, he’d spent the rest of his night going through the entire Slytherin library searching for information. He decided to start with books on magical creatures and scan them for any mention of the three headed dog. 

It turned out there was plenty of information on the hounds, but next to nothing on how to actually subdue one.

But the beast had to have gotten into Hogwarts _somehow._ The most likely source, Tom realized, was Hagrid. A smile began to creep across his face as he thought. If anyone knew how to neutralize the Cerberus, it would be Hagrid. Getting the information from him would be simple. Hagrid was incredibly loose-tongued, especially in regards to his creatures. Another tea date with Harry and some subtle digging should get him what he needed.

Unfortunately the hellhound would be the easiest part of the equation.

What Tom was having trouble figuring out was what the monster was protecting, and _why._

Most likely, it was some sort of weapon. Something that was simply valuable had no business being kept in a school. No, most likely it was something dangerous. Something Dumbledore wanted to keep out of enemy hands.

Whatever it was, it would have to be tiny, based on the size of the bundle Hagrid had taken out of Gringotts.

And then there was the fact that the item had been removed from the wizarding bank in the first place. For whatever reason, that fact really upset Tom. Gringotts was supposed to be impossible to rob with more curses and traps than Tom cared to think about, and yet _someone_ had managed to break in. Whoever was after the little package, they were _incredibly_ powerful. And worse yet, whoever it was would likely be intelligent enough to realize the item was now at Hogwarts.

That was concerning.

So, this was no longer a matter of satiating Tom’s curiosity, but of getting this (possible) weapon before this unknown individual could. 

He needed more information. There were too many unknown variables to act hastily. He’d not only need to find out about the traps guarding the item (because surely there’d be more than just the Cerberus) but also identify what it was, and who else wanted it.

And why the _bloody hell_ Dumbledore thought it was a good idea to hide said item in a _school._

 _Dumbledore thinks the Dark Lord is still out there,_ Tom realized with dread. Oh, oh _no._ If anyone could break into Gringotts, it would be a Dark Lord who for some infernal reason couldn’t seem to _stay dead._

A Dark Lord who’d likely want to kill Harry in very gruesome and painful ways.

That’s it, Tom was getting whatever this thing was _first._

But there was nothing Tom could do tonight. At least it didn’t seem like anyone was after it just yet. But how long would that last? How long did Tom have to figure this out and steal the item first?

Tom jumped out of his chair and began pacing.

This wasn’t something he’d be able to do on his own. He was always planning on involving Harry, at least in the less dangerous parts, but even with the two of them, Tom didn’t think it would be enough.

He needed to keep an eye on the third floor corridor. Make sure nothing was amiss, that no one tried to break in before Tom could steal,whatever was down there first. The talking portraits would be useful, if Tom could win their loyalty. Sadly, he didn’t think there were any willing to spy for him. Besides, that corridor had an odd lack of paintings. Tom wondered if it was deliberate.

The ghosts were another avenue he could explore. Tom’s interaction with the Bloody Baron had been limited thus far, but the Slytherin ghost seemed to like him the few times they had met. At least, he seemed pleased that Tom didn’t shy away from him like the other students.

But that was only one ghost, and it would be suspicious if he were to hover around the third floor at all times.

Some sort of detection spell then. Something he could put on the door to alert him if it opened. It seemed a trip to the library was in order tomorrow. Tom glanced at a silver clock sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. Dawn was a few hours away.

He’d need at least an hour or two of sleep if he wanted to have the state of mind for research. Unfortunately, Tom was far too anxious to be falling asleep anytime soon. There was some plot going on, and a very real possibility that a Dark Lord would be trying to break into the school any day.

Harry was in danger. That alone was enough to keep him up.

Tom was suddenly overwhelmed with homesickness. He didn’t miss the Relatives or the chores or the tiny little cupboard, but the closeness with his brother, sharing a bed… he’d been so distracted with the first week of magic school to really notice it, but Tom felt like he was missing a limb.

There was a phantom pain where Harry normally was. He missed his brother. He missed Harry so much it _ached._

Tom glanced at the common room exit. 

Well, he can’t get in trouble if he’s not caught. And Tom never got caught.

* * *

The Gryffindor common room was as gaudy as he had expected. Covered in garish reds and golds, it was just as bright and obnoxious as its students.

The whole thing was so incredibly _homely_ , warm and inviting in a way that Slytherin wasn’t.

Tom could see why Harry loved it so much.

He had to cross through the common room to get to the stairs that lead to the dorms. There were two sets, left leading to the boys dorms, right to the girls. Tom went left.

He only had to go up a single flight of stairs to get to the first years dorms. Like in Slytherin, every year had their own floor, though the youngest snakes were at the top instead of the bottom given the dorms were below the common room instead of above.

Tom crept into Harry’s dorm, pausing as soon as he stepped through the doorway. There were five beds, each with their curtains drawn. Tom wasn’t about to go peeking through each one searching for his brother and risk waking everyone up.

Then he noticed a familiar trunk sitting at the foot of the bed farthest back, a pair of well worn glasses perched on the side table next to it. 

_Found you._

Tom crept in silent feet toward the bed. He pulled the curtains back a bit to look inside. He could only see a familiar mop of thick black hair poking out from beneath the blankets. Harry was sleeping so far to one side that he was nearly falling off the bed, leaving half the bed open. The half that Tom normally slept on.

Tom tried to swallow down the emotion lodged in his throat. Tearing up over something so silly wasn’t going to do him any good.

He pulled back the covers and slid into bed beside his twin. Harry didn’t even stir.

Feeling brave (and maybe the slightest bit clingy) Tom wiggled so that he was flush against Harry, the mess of dark curls under his chin. 

Tom fell asleep to the feeling of another’s heartbeat echoing against his breastbone.

* * *

Tom woke to a freezing cold foot jabbing him in the ribs. He was too fucking tired for this. Tom shifted, but the coldness didn’t leave. Fine then. He kicked out with his own foot, hitting the offensive body right in the gut. There was a loud yelp, a crash, and suddenly the blankets around Tom disappeared.

“Wot the _‘ell_?!” 

Tom blinked awake. This wasn’t his room.

Oh, right.

He glanced over and saw a mop of thick black hair poking up over the side of the bed. Tom rolled over to lean over the side of the bed and look down at his brother.

“Wotcher doin’ on the floor?” He asked.

Harry just glared at him. 

Tom grinned.

“Tom?”

He looked up to see Weasley gaping at him from his own bed. The other three boys were staring as well.

“Who else?” He cocked his head to one side.

“What are you doing here?” Weasley asked.

Tom shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Me and ‘arry are used ter sharin’ a bed.” He eyed Harry’s dorm mates. One of the boys had an absolutely _devious_ smile.

“You have the accent too!” He snickered. “Harry sounds like that when he’s tired.”

Tom’s face fell, eyes going hard. “What accent?” He asked, cockney nowhere to be found. The boy blanched.

Weasley blinked at him. “That’s kind of creepy, mate.”

Harry groaned from where he lay on the ground. “Just ignore Tom. He likes people to think ‘e’s _posh._ ” Tom leaned over and flicked Harry on the forehead, making the younger boy yelp. In retaliation, Harry climbed back on the bed and clambered on top of Tom, his bones knees digging into his gut.

“Ge’off!” Tom yelled, trying to shove Harry off his chest.

“Nuh-uh. You started it.” He plopped down on Tom’s sternum, hands folded under his chin. Tom glared, but Harry just responded by giving him a shit eating grin.

“You’re such a brat.”

Harry blew a raspberry at him.

Tom sighed and lay his head back on the pillow. The other boys were already up and getting ready for breakfast. He’d need to wait until they left to talk to Harry in private.

“Are you allowed to be up here? You’re in Slytherin.” Tom glanced up at Longbottom standing awkwardly by his bed, still in his pajamas. “I just don’t want you getting in trouble.”

Tom smirked. “Don’t worry, I won’t get in trouble.”

Harry snorted, the sound vibrating against Tom’s chest. His brother knew he didn’t mean that sneaking into the Gryffindor dorm was allowed, just that he wasn’t planning on getting caught.

“Well, if you’re sure…” Longbottom trailed off.

Tom gave him a reassuring smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I promise it won’t be an issue. Go ahead and get ready. I need to talk to Harry about something in private.”

“Um, yeah, of course.” Longbottom said, scrambling to get dressed. The other boys were already in their day clothes and waiting around to leave.

“What are you going to talk about?” Asked the same dark haired boy who’d pointed out Tom’s accent.

“I did say it’s private, didn’t I?” Tom scowled.

The boy just grinned. “Thought it was worth asking.”

Harry heaved himself up off Tom’s chest, making the older boy grunt. “Tom probably just wants to share some Slytherin gossip, Dean.” That only made the other boys more interested. 

Tom was getting tired of waiting. “Go, shoo. We’ll see you down at breakfast later.”

“If you’re sure…” said Weasley, unsure.

Harry gave the red head a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry Ron. We’ll be down soon.” The four boys nodded and filed out of the bedroom, finally leaving Tom and Harry alone.

“So what’s this about?” Harry started.

Tom’s hand shot out and clapped over Harry’s mouth. The younger went crossed eyed to glare at the offending appendage. Tom ignored him. He pulled the curtains shut around the bed, then took out his wand and cast a silencing charm on them. It was one of the most basic ones, but Tom hadn’t the time to learn anything more advanced yet. It would have to do.

Harry glared at his brother, unimpressive. “Really?” He asked as soon as Tom’s hand was off his mouth.

Tom just rocked back and forth on the bed, a nasty smirk creeping over his lips. “I found sumfink last night.”

That caught Harry’s attention. “What?” 

“You know that third floor corridor? The one Dumbledore said was off limits? I snuck up there last night to check it out.”

“You did _what_ ?! You prick! You went without me!” Harry shrieked, slapping Tom on the shoulder. _Hard._

“I didn’t want you tagging along in case it was dangerous, which it was! They have a Cerberus guarding one of the rooms!” He yelled back, rubbing his injury. It might actually bruise.

Harry gaped at him. “You _bloody idiot!_ You go and get mad at me for flying a broom, when you’re the one who runs off and does this? Now who’s the suicidal one?”

Harry’s yelling would have had a lot more weight to it if he weren’t fighting a grin. “So why do you think it’s there? You obviously have theories already.” 

Tom told him. About the trap door, the package Hagrid had taken from Gringotts, and the breaking after. How it all had to be connected. He told Harry about his weapon theory. About how he thought the Dark Lord might be after whatever was hidden in the castle.

Harry became very quiet at the mention that the wizard who murdered their parents might be after whatever was hidden in the castle. If he was even still alive, that is.

“You want ter nick it first, don’t you?” Harry said with quiet resignation. Tom just grinned. 

“We’ll plan more later. I have some ideas. We’ll need to meet with Hagrid again. Get some information on three headed dogs. We also need to figure out whatever it is that’s hidden there.” He canceled the charm on the curtains and stood. “For now, though, I’m _starving_. Let’s head down to breakfast.”

Harry stood too and got dressed. Tom hadn’t bothered to change out of his uniform the night before, so he was left to try and straighten out the wrinkles as best he could. He borrowed Harry’s toothbrush to clean his teeth but had to use his fingers to comb his hair since Harry was allergic to brushes. 

Once the two were presentable, they left the dorm room and headed down to the common room. There were a few lions loitering around who looked at Tom oddly. A dark skinned first year girl gave them an understanding smile. Tom recognized her as one of the Patil sisters. She was separated from her own twin by houses as well. Tom nodded back.

Once out of Gryffindor Tower, Harry started pestering him about the spell he used on the curtains. Tom promised to teach Harry the silencing charm, as well as anything else useful he learned.

“I’m making a list of spells I think you should look up and learn. I’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

“Why can’t you just teach me?” Harry moaned.

“Because you need to learn to find things on your own. I have my own research to do. I can’t be teaching you _everything_.” Though honestly, Tom was tempted to drop everything and spend all his time tutoring Harry and nothing else. Sadly, he had other obligations to consider.

Harry groaned and grumbled, but relented. Seems he was picking up on Weasley’s habit of avoiding homework. That, or he was just being dramatic. Most likely the latter.

“Can I tell Ron and Hermione?” Harry asked as they neared the great hall.

Tom thought it over. Weasley likely wouldn’t be much help, but Granger was smart, and good at research based on the amount of books she always carried around. If they told one, they’d have to tell the other as well.

There was, however, the risk of them telling someone else, or the two getting in the way. Granger especially was proving to be a stickler for the rules. She had an unhealthy trust in authority, especially the Hogwarts professors. She didn’t seem to realize adults could have anything other than the best intentions. She’d be in for a rude awakening someday.

Tom decided it wasn’t worth the risk to tell them just yet, and let his brother know as much. Harry nodded, disappointed, but understood the reasoning.

“Wait until we know more. We’ll tell them eventually.” He promised.

Tom wasn’t about to sabotage Harry’s budding friendships by forcing him to keep a secret as little as this.

Even if part of him wanted to keep Harry all to himself.

 _He needs friends,_ Tom reminded himself, _Harry’s not like you. He_ **_likes_ ** _other people. Granger and Weasley and the others will be good for him._

He bit his tongue as his jealousy rose up bitter in his throat. He didn’t like the reminder that he was sharing Harry’s affection with people who most certainly didn’t deserve it.

_They make Harry happy. Anything that makes Harry happy is worth it._

That didn’t stop the bitterness in Tom’s chest.

They eventually made it down to the great hall after getting turned around twice by the moving staircases. Tom opted once again to sit with Harry at the Gryffindor table like he had done nearly every morning. His little spot of green amongst all the red and gold was still looked at with suspicion, but the lions seemed to be slowly coming to accept his presence.

He’d made sure to turn the charm up to ten as to endear himself to the house. So far it seemed to be working. It wouldn’t do to alienate himself from Harry’s housemates, after all. And as much as the other Slytherins disliked Tom’s mingling, his brother was a fantastic excuse. The only thing purebloods seemed to value more than house loyalty, was family. Well, unless you went full blood traitor. Tom really had his work cut out for himself.

Breakfast went like any other, until the owls arrived with the post. There were flocks of birds delivering letters and newspapers like every morning. But then six owls carrying a long, thin package arrived, flying directly towards the collection of first years at the Gryffindor table. The birds dropped the package in front of Harry and flew off. Harry picked up the letter that came with the parcel and read through it before handing the parchment to Tom.

He set down his third cup of coffee and quickly scanned over the contents of the letter. Tom felt his stomach drop. A broomstick. A bloody _broomstick._

For _quidditch_ . What was McGonagall _thinking_ ? The game was stupid and _dangerous_ and there was no way he was letting Harry fly around with nothing but a twig between him and a hundred foot drop to his death. Tom was about to say as much when he got a look at Harry’s expression.

His brother looked so bloody _hopeful._ There was so much excitement in his gemstone eyes, but so much hesitancy too. Like he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Like he knew that good things never lasted.

Tom took a deep breath through his nose. “Go run off to your tower so you can open it already. I know you’re dying to.”

A cautious smile made its way to Harry’s face as he sprang out of his seat, Weasley right behind him. “You’re not coming with us?” He asked hesitantly.

Tom shook his head. “I’m going to the library. I need to look up some spells to keep you from breaking every bone in your scrawny little body if you fall off that death trap.”

Harry _beamed._

* * *

Tom was exhausted from getting only a few hours of sleep, but he had far too much to do to waste his time with something as useless as _napping._ Instead he spent most of his Saturday researching in the library, jotting down notes in one of his journals. He started with looking up the basics of quidditch, healing spells, and anything and everything he could think of that could be useful in case Harry fell off his broom. He wrote out a list of all the spells and their instructions, and went through them one by one to learn their incantations. He ended up having to keep to third year spells and below. Anything higher would take more than a day to learn.

Tom practiced each spell until he could perform them all to his satisfaction. The levitation charms came much easier to him than healing, for some reason. He theorized it was because his magic seemed to skew dark, made for curses and hexes rather than healing and transfiguration. 

He’d discovered that different people’s magic tended to lean either light or dark while reading about different branches of magic. What kind of magic a wizard was good at tended to be based on whether their magical core screwed dark or light. Healing magic and most mind Magic’s were decidedly light. Transfiguration and alchemy tended to be light side as well, since they focused on creation. Charms were mostly neutral, while curses and soul magic were notably dark. 

Healing would likely always be difficult for him, simply because his magic wasn’t made for it. He’d have to find other ways to keep Harry safe, like making a fall off a broomstick less lethal.

Tom ended up skipping lunch, too engrossed in teaching himself how to make a person bounce rather than splat if they fell from a great height. At least Harry’s first lesson wouldn’t be until seven that night. _Plenty of time_.

When seven o’clock rolled around, Tom felt woefully underprepared, having only memorized a levitation charm (much stronger than the first year _wingardium leviosa,_ though built on the same principles _),_ the bouncing spell, a spell designed to cauterize wounds, and a few for broken bones.

Thankfully, Tom hadn’t needed any of them. Harry had done fine at his practice. Better than fine, actually. Even Tom, who knew next to nothing about flying, could tell he was a natural. Tom was surprised to realize how _proud_ he felt at his brother’s skill. 

The pride didn’t stop him from almost having a heart attack every time Harry did some idiot stunt to catch the balls being thrown at him.

Watching Harry play was going to take years off his life, Tom just knew it.

He still came to every practice, wand ready in case Harry fell. What kind of brother would Tom be if he let Harry die from something as stupid as falling off a broom?

Between classes, homework, standing sentry for each of Harry’s quidditch practices, and his own self study (not to mention trying to make connections in Slytherin and survive his own house) there was almost no time for Tom to do anymore research into the Forbidden Third Floor and all it entailed. 

He managed to look up a simple detection charm that was weak enough that, unless someone was looking for it, was basically unnoticeable. A few nights later he was able to sneak up to the third floor again and cast it on the door. If anyone opened the door, Tom would know.

Obviously it wasn’t a perfect solution. The cerberus was a living animal. It needed to be fed regularly. 

The first time Tom felt the charm alert him to a trespasser entering the room, it was a false alarm. He’d done running up, panicking at the thought that he was too late, only to see Hagrid leaving the corridor looking very chewed on.

Tom could have slapped himself. _Of course_ someone had to be taking care of the beast. Thankfully, Hagrid had a pretty rigid schedule, and visited the hound at the same time every two days to feed it. Based on how mangled he looked every time Tom saw him after, the boy assumed Hagrid was _playing_ with the monster, because of _course_ he was.

Besides the detection spell, Tom made very little headway in his search for answers. The further they got into the school year, the more homework the professors decided to assign them. The essays themselves were easy, but time consuming. They probably wouldn’t be that bad if Tom were willing to half ass it, but sadly he refused to get anything less than a perfect grade. If Tom were any less of a perfectionist, he might have more free time. 

Classes, at least, were easy. Tom had a knack for theory, and pushing it beyond its limits. Once he understood the basics for _how_ something worked, well, all the first year spells were _painfully_ easy. He found himself becoming bored with the curriculum and had to seek out more and more advanced spells to entertain himself, much to the delight of his teachers.

He and Granger were tied for bringing in the most house points in all the classes they shared. Granger, of course, took that as a challenge. Once she realized Tom was her biggest competition, she dedicated herself to outperforming him in every class. _How cute._

Even with the rivalry, Granger wasn’t willing to pass up the chance to pick his brain. They made a habit of visiting the library together at least once a week and going on study binges. Unfortunately, Granger was unbearably _light_. She shied away from even a passing mention of dark spells. Tom couldn’t talk with her about the interesting stuff without her looking at him like he’d just murdered a small animal. It was very disconcerting.

He very much regretted telling her about a flesh eating curse he’d discovered that could reduce an adult wizard to nothing but bones in under an hour, even if her horrified face was pretty funny. Then of course there was the whole conversation about _where_ he’d found the spell in the first place. Luckily for Tom, he was an expert at bullshitting.

As annoying as the unspoken ‘don’t talk about dark spells around Granger or she might tell a teacher’ rule was, it wasn’t all that surprising. Tom found most magicals tended to shy away from the darker stuff. At least Tom had Malfoy and Nott to learn curses from. Being friends with the children of former Death Eaters had its perks, in that they knew a _lot_ of nasty little spells, and more than willing to share (not to mention the friendship would hopefully compromise said ex-Death Eaters if the Dark Lord was still alive. Tom could multitask).

They weren’t the only ones. The older Slytherins were a treasure trove of information, and were more than happy to teach the unnerving little first year all sorts of illegal magic. Of course there was nowhere for Tom to practice, so he wasn’t really sure how well he’d be able to perform the actual spells. 

Tom was surprised at how much he enjoyed Hogwarts. He had never really bothered to do well in school before, back when he had the Aunt and Uncle watching his every move. He still remembered the first time he came home with perfect grades, and the resulting bruises from being slammed into a wall. It just wasn’t worth it to outperform precious little Duddlykins.

But at Hogwarts, there were no Relatives to punish him for doing well. He wouldn’t be screamed at for doing something right. Instead, he was _praised._ Tom didn’t like to admit it to himself, but the compliments his teachers showered him with every time he did something correct was addicting. There was something so… _nice,_ about being recognized for what he could do. For being _better,_ and not being punished for it.

There was no cupboard, no belt, no withheld food.

Just Tom, and all the things he was capable of.

So what if he went out of his way to do well just for praise? To hear Flitwick congratulate him for a perfect charm, or have McGonagall comment on his creativity? He didn’t _need_ their approval. It was just nice to have someone recognize his talent.

Even Snape gave his begrudging respect. Potions was _fun,_ and so complex that he was never bored. If you didn’t pay attention to every little thing, you were liable to blow your hands off. 

Potions might not have the same siren call that the dark arts did, but Tom thoroughly enjoyed the class anyway. Even if the teacher was less than stellar.

Snape had a nasty habit of hovering over the Gryffindors, especially Longbottom. His looming presence and constant insults made the students nervous and prone to accidents. Tom couldn’t count how many times someone got distracted by Snape’s heavy glare and added the wrong ingredient, resulting in a melted cauldron or noxious fumes. It was incredibly irritating.

Thankfully, Snape lived and breathed potions. Once the man was drawn into a discussion of the finer points of potion making, or Merlin forbid _innovation_ , the man completely forgot he was supposed to be terrorizing a horde of snot-nosed eleven year olds. Tom had made an art out of distracting the Professor with discussions on potion theory to keep the grim man from hovering over the nervous Gryffindors. Not only did it endear Tom to the Professor (in his own hostile, snappish way) but it kept poor Longbottom from blowing up too many cauldrons. Against his better judgment, Tom was actually starting to like his head of house.

Outside of teaching potions, Snape rarely interacted with the Slytherins. He would occasionally step in if there was any in-house disagreements, but for the most part the snakes were left to sort themselves out.

Being in Slytherin was interesting. There was a strange sense of unity, being the one house hated by all the others, yet at the same time it was very ‘every man for himself’. In Slytherin, you either adapted, or you drowned. The whole thing was very cut throat.

Tom _flourished._

The hat had been right, Tom realized. Harry would have done very well in the snake house, but it wouldn’t have been good for him. Harry was too kind, too friendly. Slytherin would have turned him into something nasty.

Something like _Tom_.

Harry was the good twin. He was the kindness to Tom’s cruelty. The conscious keeping Tom from stepping too far over the edge. If they’d both gone to Slytherin, that would have slowly eroded away. Tom hated to think what he would have become, if he didn’t have Harry to hold him back.

Or worse yet, if Harry were to take that path with him.

Harry was better off in Gryffindor, full of its warm colors and friendly faces and sense of family.

And Tom would do what he always did, play the situation to his advantage and _survive._

Over the first few months at Hogwarts, he quickly rose to the top of the pecking order. He used every trick he knew to win over his house mates. The first years were easy. Tom already had Draco Malfoy on his side. From there it was simple to prove to the others that he was a useful ally. Between being a Potter, his adjacent fame as the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, his talent for magic, and his ambition, Tom soon enough had the entire first year behind him.

The older students were a bit harder. They’d already fallen into their own cliques. They weren’t about to follow behind a little firstie, no matter how powerful. Tom would have to wait a few years to prove to them that he was worth following.

Unfortunately, pureblood supremacy was obnoxiously prevalent in Slytherin. Everyone, even the halfbloods, had something against muggles and muggleborns. That was going to be Tom’s biggest hurdle. He wasn’t about to wage yet another war on the basis of blood purity. Look where it had gotten Grindelwald and Voldemort.

No, Tom decided he was going to base his ideology on unity rather than blood purity. He didn’t just want parts of the magical community to follow him, he wanted them _all._

Tom knew Slytherin’s reputation. He’d seen how he was treated when people didn’t recognize him as Harry’s twin. They thought he was a baby Death Eater.

The muggleborns especially shied away from him.

Tom would have to work hard on shaping his reputation. He’d have to be friendly and fair, helpful. Someone those other students could turn to, no matter the color of his robes. It would be hard to get them to overlook his house, but once he did, he’d have the backing of an entire generation of magicals. 

Luckily, he already had a foothold with the Gryffindors through Harry. If Tom could make himself an honorary lion, then getting Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw on his side would be easy.

Converting the Slytherins would be much harder.

Tom would have to chip away at their bigotry and force them to see the bigger picture. It would take time, too. All of Slytherin had grown up on the idea of pureblood superiority. It would be a very delicate act indeed to challenge that.

The first years would be the easiest to convert. Their bigotry was mostly just parroting back things they’d heard from their parents rather than something that had become fully ingrained.

The older years would be more difficult. Not just because of the age difference, but because they had the time to take their parents beliefs on as their own.

Tom would still have to be careful not to push too far, too fast, or he’d lose them. He’d need to start small, push at the cracks. They weren’t ready to face the reality that the purebloods were pushing themselves towards extinction. No, Tom first had to understand where they were coming from before he could deconstruct their thinking. Challenging their beliefs would be delicate work, and only done once Tom was able to provide them with an alternative.

An alternative only he could give them.

 _Either die out or follow me_.

His year mates would be the trial run. The real challenge would be the older students. Tom wasn’t worried.

He had seven years to win them over. He was confident he could do it in four.

Soon enough Tom fell into a pattern. He’d stay up reading every night until the rest of his yearmates fell asleep, then slip out to head up to Gryffindor Tower. He’d climb into bed with a drowsy Harry and spoon his brother until he fell asleep. Tom would wake up just before dawn and sneak back down to the dungeons to get dressed. He’d then head up with his yearmates for breakfast. Some morning he’d sit at the Slytherin table, strengthening his bonds with the other students, and collecting blackmail just in case (the snakes were horrible gossips, especially in the mornings).

Most days though, he sat beside Harry at the Gryffindor table for his fist meal. Lunch was always eaten beside his brother, though Tom made sure to return to the Slytherin table for dinner each night. During free periods and after class, Tom was always either in the library, exploring the castle, or lounging with Harry in the Gryffindor common room. The lions had been hostile at the snake in their midst at first, but the Weasley clan’s easy acceptance of him made them tolerate his presence. Harry’s puppy eyes probably helped. To one had said anything about him sneaking into Gryffindor Tower every day, though Tom did catch Dumbledore’s knowing look one morning. The headmaster definitely knew, but if he wasn’t going to do anything, then Tom wasn’t going to worry.

After dinner was spent down in the dungeons. He got dragged into wizarding games with the boys in his year, or gossip with the older students. Many nights Tom would spend his time picking the brains of the upper years, asking about everything from culture to politics to spells.

Just two months in, and Tom felt more at home than he ever had at Privet Drive. He fell into place within the magical world seamlessly, like he was born for it.

It would be concerning if the familiarity weren’t so comforting. 

Tom had never been good at denying himself, after all.

* * *

It was Halloween.

Tom had always hated the day, even before he found out what it meant. There’s always been a _knowing._ A feeling deep in his gut that told him _this was not a day of celebration._

Halloween was the day their parents died. Were _murdered_.

All the students up feasting in the great hall, laughing, carefree, happy. And there he was, aching for something he’d lost before he’d really even known it.

He’d had parents. Parents who loved him. A mother who gave her life to save him and his brother.

Dead parents. What good were dead parents? What good was someone who couldn’t love him enough to _live_ for him.

~~They’d died for him instead.~~

Halloween. Samhain. It was meant to be a holy day. A celebration of magic, of life and death. When the veil between worlds was thinnest. Tom wondered why they had to die on this day, of all days? There was a cruel irony to it.

The great hall with its candles and pumpkins and bats felt like a spit in the face to what this day was supposed to be, what it represented.

Even without the painfully _muggle_ decorations, Tom didn’t think he’d be up for joining the feast.

This was a night for him to mourn alone. 

He’d never been good at sharing his grief, even with Harry. Tom was closed off and cold. He kept his feelings trapped close inside, far from the outside world and anyone who could exploit them. He was private and careful. And never very good at sharing his burdens.

Harry though, Harry mourned in company. He searched out loved ones to hold him up. To keep him steady. To remind him to keep going, keep living. Harry sought out others. Sought action, movement. Distraction, and the comfort of friends. He wrapped himself in other people’s warmth to dull the pain of loss.

Tom didn’t have that luxury.

Harry would be in the great hall, possibly not even aware of what this day was, what it meant. Tom had never told him. He’d be with his friends, happy and eating and enjoying his childhood.

Tom didn’t want that, couldn’t have that.

Instead, he wandered. Let his feet take him where they would. Through the dungeons, searching the secret corridors and passageways, discovering Hogwarts’ secrets.

Secrets so easy to find.

~~Too easy, like he already knew they existed.~~

His bare feet padded softly on the old stone, the walls swallowing up any sound he might have made. He let long fingers brush against the chilly walls, wandering without care, without thought.

This was home. The only home he’d ever know. He belonged here. It was in his blood. Inside his very bones. He felt the echo of the castle win his magic. The wards swirled around him, whispering, welcoming him home.

As Tom walked, he thought, and remembered.

His first memory was the night his parents were killed. It was hazy, distant like all childhood memories were. But he could remember the important pieces, the emotions that went with them.

If he closed his eyes, he could see the house, feel the magic soaking it. Feel the magic _breaking._

He could remember the front door being blown out of its frame, the scream his mother let out. His father, yelling at them to run, charging at the dark figure that stepped through the charred doorway. He hadn’t even had his wand. 

Mother, picking them up, fleeing up the stairs. Being set down in the crib, Harry crying next to him. Tom, calm and quiet.

His mother, slicing open her wrist with a spell, the sudden tang of blood in the air. He remembered her frantic whispering as she smeared the red red _red_ blood on runes carved beneath the crib.

The dark figure slipping into the room, a high cold laugh. Their Mother begging, screaming. 

A flash of green.

Tom had watched as that black black _black_ shape got closer. It raised its arm and Tom felt _judgment._ There was more green, then nothing but _pain._

He hadn’t known what day it happened, not until magic had been introduced into their lives. Tom had read about that night, searching through the Hogwarts library for any reference to the defeat of the Dark Lord. The theories, the speculation. The celebration that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead.

Tom couldn’t help but hate them for that. How could you celebrate, when their parents were dead? How could you celebrate, when two little boys were left orphaned and alone?

Tom walked, and he mourned in his own silent way.

His wandering took him through a hidden passage up to the ground floor. He stepped out from behind a tapestry and into an empty hallway. He was suddenly torn from his thoughts when the stench of swamp and body odor hit him. What the ruddy hell _was that_?

Tom paused in his walking, cast his magic out like fishing lines. He searched around, both with his eyes and with his magic for any threats.

Nothing. He was alone.

The stench could possibly be a Weasley twin prank. More than likely, they’d set off another dungbomb. Still, Tom felt on edge. His instinct told him there was something out there. Something dangerous.

 _Not as dangerous as me_ , said the little voice from the Before. Tom did his best to ignore it. The Before thoughts had been getting worse. Sometimes, Tom felt like his skin was too small. Like there was too much inside him, and not enough space. He felt wrong and ill-made. Out of place, ~~out of time .~~

The familiarity, the _knowing,_ was always there, just under the surface. He tried to freeze it over, trap it down beneath the frozen waters of his subconscious. Let it drown. He didn’t want to remember. He never wanted to remember.

Never wanted to have to face those thoughts. Let that part of him skin down into the depths of his mind. Let it vanish into the abyss never to surface again.

(If he remembered, he might become that again.)

A scream tore through the air, echoing in the cold stone halls. It was a childish scream, young, full of fear. Terrified.

Tom rushed ahead, searching for the source. A blur of movement out of the courier of his eye. He rounded a corner and saw a massive hulking _something_ force its way into one of the many rooms lining the hallway. The scream again. Multiple screams, actually.

One of them terrifyingly familiar.

_Harry._

Tom ran in after the monster, wand raised.

It was a troll. A bloody _mountain troll,_ howling and thrashing around and trying to kill three tiny children trying to hide in a ruddy _bathroom_ of all places. Tom only had eyes for the smallest.

Harry, Harry _Harry._

Stick thin, too thin, pale, cowering beneath a toilet stall. There were splinters and dust in his messy hair.

Harry stumbled out of the way of the troll’s club, the wood smashing into a toilet stall instead and sending splinters raining down everywhere.

The copper smell of blood filled the air. Tom’s lungs seized on the stench.

There was blood on Harry’s face, dripping down from his hairline. He was terrified, his green eyes wide, trying to get away, trying to hide. There was nowhere to go.

Fear claws up Tom’s throat, choking him, strangling him. Harry was in danger. _Harry was in danger._ The fear turned to raw, burning _anger._

How _dare_ this vermin touch his brother? _How dare it?!_

Tom didn’t think, didn’t even utter the spell. He just raised his wand and slashed it through the air. The glass of the mirrors shattered.

But instead of falling, they _floated_.

The troll turned at the sound of breaking glass. The children watched Tom with wide fearful eyes.

Tom’s lips pulled up off his teeth in a horrible parody of a smile.

_How dare you?_

His wand of blood and bone cut through the air, and the glass shards shot at the troll like a rain of machine-gun fire. The little blades dug in deep, ripping apart the troll’s thick hide, biting into the vulnerable throat and belly. Red, red, _red_ poured down its neck, spilling across the ground. Wet warmth sprayed across Tom’s face. _Must have hit an artery._

He tasted copper.

The troll howled in pain, but didn’t fall. The glass was too small, the troll’s hide too thick. It was hurt, losing a lot of blood, but it wasn’t enough. The wounds were too shallow to kill it quick. It would bleed out, long and slow. But the troll was massive and scared and very, very dangerous. It needed to die faster.

The lumbering beast took a step towards him, roared in anger and pain.

Tom snarled.

The bubblehead charm was easy. Simple. So _Simple_. Just as easy as summoning water from the pipes to fill it.

_Drown with me._

The troll stumbled and flailed, its head encased in a captive ocean. It gasped, desperate for air, but only inhaled water. Choking, gagging.

Drowning.

Tom watched in fascination as it tried to grab at the water around its head, its fingers passing through like there was nothing there at all. The troll flailed, tried desperately to get away. Tom wouldn’t let it. His magic held firm, forcing the creature to fill its lungs with water. _Breath with me._ Their lungs _burned_. Tom felt like he was drowning right there with it.

_This is familiar._

His magic tendriled out. Reaching, searching. _Hungry._ The troll swung around, club bashing into the walls, tearing stone from stone. Someone screamed. The pipes were torn out, water spraying into the air. The red red _red_ filled the ground in puddles. Pink water collected between Tom’s toes. His magic lapped it up. It hummed, _so hungry._ Tom’s hand twitched. His eyes refused to leave the troll as its lungs filled, too much, _too much._ They burst and water rushed into its chest cavity.

His own ribs burned. His magic _sang._ He felt so hungry. He felt _engorged._

Finally, finally, the troll fell.

Tom stared down as the massive body convulsed. Twitching as it died. The bubble of water sloshing around its head slowly turned crimson. Shards of glass glittered beneath the sphere until the thick cloud of blood turned the whole thing red.

Tom watched as the troll finally went still.

_You don’t get to touch what’s mine._

He nudged one of his large pudgy hands with his foot. Nothing, the troll didn’t even twitch. It was dead. 

The bubblehead charm finally released, sending a wave of red water cascading across the bathroom floor. The troll’s mouth was agape, its eyes bloodshot and glazed. It’s face looked almost bloated. It was an empty husk, its magic hollowed out.

Something gnawed deep in his gut.

Tom looked down to watch the blood lap at his feet. It was soaking into his pants.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“T-Tom?”

He looked up from the bloody floor, searching for the voice. Who?

Oh.

_Harry._

His brother was staring at him, something like fear in his green green eyes. He kept glancing between Tom and the corpse. From Tom’s face (dripping, covered in blood) to his red, red, _red_ wand (just as blood soaked), down to the body of the troll. Back again.

Like he didn’t know what to think.

Like he was afraid.

“I’m sorry.” Tom croaked. “It was trying to kill you.”

Harry took a step forward. Before he could do more, and Snape stalked through the broken doorway, McGonagall and Quirrell right behind him. The professors froze as soon as they saw the corpse.

“What happened here?” Demanded McGonagall.

Tom couldn’t bring himself to talk. He just stared at the water covering the bathroom floor as it slowly turned red.

He could barely hear Harry’s voice over the rushing in his ears. “Tom wasn’t at the feast. I was worried about him, since he didn’t know there was a troll loose, and he was probably somewhere down in the dungeons. I went to go find him and make sure he was okay. I told Ron and Hermione to go back to Gryffindor Tower, but they said it would be safer if we stuck together.”

“Yes, exactly.” That was Granger’s voice, wasn’t it? “Safety in numbers and all. We weren’t expecting to actually find the troll. It chased us into the bathroom, started tearing everything up.” Was her voice shaking? She usually sounded so confident. “That’s when T-Tom showed up.”

He looked up at the sound of his own name. Everyone was staring at him. Why were they staring at him?

“Did you kill the troll, Mr Potter?” Asked McGonagall.

Tom flinched at the tone of her voice. She tried to sound gentle, but he could hear the accusation in her tone. _Monster. You did this, you did this, you did this._

“Yes.” His voice didn’t sound right. Was it always so empty?

Tom looked back at the troll, still bleeding. How could something bleed that much? His skin was burning.

“I broke the mirror. Tried to kill it with the shards.” He told them, his voice flat. Detached. “It didn’t go deep enough, even though I aimed for the throat. It was moving around too much. Could have crushed someone. So I used a bubblehead charm to drown it. Filled it with water from the pipes.”

He stared at McGonagall’s shocked expression, the grave look on Snape’s face.

_Monster. Monster, monster._

“You drowned it?” Asked Snape.

Tom nodded, jerky. His neck didn’t feel right. “It was a mountain troll. They can’t breath underwater.” He said simply.

Snape looked like he was going to ask something else, but McGonagall interrupted him. “And why weren’t you at the feast tonight with everyone else?”

“It’s Halloween. I didn’t want to be around other people.” Tom said, like that explained everything. He thought it did. Based on the Professor’s confused expressions, it didn’t.

“I remember the night our parents died.” Tom said, his eyes trailing back down to red, red, _red. “_ Harry doesn’t, but I do. I don’t… I don’t like to be around other people, on Halloween.”

He glanced up at the Professors. McGonagall looked at him with horribly sad eyes. It made Tom uncomfortable.

Snape looked stricken. Waxy, pale. His black eyes were wide, staring at Tom. There was something like grief on his face.

How curious.

Tom looked at Quirrell next. The man had remained quiet through the entire thing, staring at the dead troll in open fascination. No disgust, no fear, just contemplation. Now though, he was looking at Tom with a very similar expression. Like he was something to be eaten whole. Tom would like to see him try.

“I-I-I think the c-c-children might be in shock, M-m-minerva.” He said, stutter firmly in place, but eyes far far too cold. “P-p-perhaps it would be b-b-best to continue this in t-t-the hospital w-w-wing?”

McGonagall started. “Yes, of course. Come along, children.” She turned and made toward the door, Granger and Weasley trailing behind her. A gentle hand touched Tom’s shoulder, making him jump. He spun around, but it was only Harry.

“Come on, let’s go.” He said softly.

Tom nodded and allowed himself to be led to the infirmary by his brother. Snape and Quirrell remained behind, presumably to take care of the body.

As Tom followed behind McGonagall, he tried to ignore the red stains his feet left behind. The smell of copper followed him all the way to the hospital wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom tries to kill the troll by breaking the mirrors in the bathroom and using the glass to stab its throat. When that doesn’t work, he puts what he intends to be a bubblehead charm (but isn’t really) over the troll’s head, then fills it with water, drowning it. 
> 
> So, I’ve officially changed the rating to mature, and added a graphic violence warning. The story is going to be taking a darker turn from here on out. The rest of first year shouldn’t be too bad, but end of second year on will be a lot more like this chapter. Fair warning, I have a tendency to write body horror and gore. I’m not sure how much of that this story will end up with, but I want you guys to be prepared. I’ll be sure to tag relevant trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter as I go, and if anyone needs specific trigger warnings, please let me know.  
> So, I’m posting this a day early because I’m planning on changing my upload days from Friday’s to Sundays, and didn’t want to short you guys. So guess what, two chapters this week! (hopefully). I’ll be doing my best to publish chapter eight Sunday. Turns out Friday’s are the worst day of the week to update fanfics. Plus, it’s not really working out with my schedule. So from now on expect a new chapter ever Sunday night (US time, sorry to any of my international readers, if I have them).  
> I’m still not sure if I have Tom’s character down just right, but I do feel like I’m getting a better handle of it. It’s a hard balance, making him loving and protective of Harry, while keeping his more vicious, manipulative Tom Riddle-ness. This Tom is at least better at recognizing other people as actual *people* instead of just tools, even if he has a hard time relating to them or feeling empathetic. He at least isn’t outright cruel, mostly because he knows it’ll make Harry sad.  
> I’ve been reading a lot of fic lately. Two really good ones that have definitely helped me figure out Tom’s characterization are [Dripping Fingers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826/chapters/61701526) and [For Want of a Nail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12360399/chapters/28115760). I cannot recommend these two fics enough.  
> Thank you guys so much for all the love your giving this story. I hope you are all doing well. Thanks for reading.


	8. Heavy, Hungry, Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore visits, Tom discovered the power of friendship, and decided to never let Harry on a broom again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t think I have any trigger warnings for this chapter

* * *

* * *

The hospital wing was empty aside from Madam Pomfrey, who rushed over as soon as she saw McGonagall arrive with three children in tow.

“What happened?” Demanded the nurse once she got close, her wand already out to cast diagnostic spells. Her eyes landed on Tom and immediately went wide. “Oh goodness.” Gasped Pomfrey.

Tom felt the tingle of a spell over his skin, but couldn’t find the energy to react. He watched, detached, as Pomfrey’s expression went from horror to confusion.

“I’m not detecting any injuries. Then where did the blood…”

“It’s not mine.” Tom told her, voice empty.

Pomfrey looked even more disturbed.

“Somehow, a troll got into the castle.”explained McGonagall. “It went after these four, but Mister Potter here managed to… kill it, before it could do any serious damage.” Pomfrey’s eyes went wide. “Kill a troll.” She murmured in horror.

“The children are likely in shock, and we thought it best that they be checked over to make sure everyone is alright.”

Pomfrey snapped out of her shock. “Right, right, of course.” She looked at the children, all professional once more. “You three, go take a seat.” She told Harry, Weasley, and Granger. Then she turned to Tom. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.” The nurse waved her wand and Tom felt the clinging stickiness on his face evaporate. His robes remained stained, but most of the blood was gone.

“There we are. Now, go lay down Mister Potter.” 

Tom nodded and took a seat on one of the infirmary beds. Pomfrey cast diagnostics on the other three, looking relieved when nothing serious came back. The woman busied herself with fixing up the gash on Harry’s head and small scratched Weasley and Granger had gotten from flying splinters.

She gave all four of them a bitter potion that would help with the shock. The moment Tom swallowed, he felt his muscles relax. His mind was still hazy and distant, but he didn’t feel so overwhelmed by everything.

Tom stared at the far wall, pretending like he wasn’t eavesdropping on Pomfrey talking to McGonagall a ways away. He had to strain his ears to hear the soft whispers.

“I want them to stay overnight for evaluation, just to be sure.” Pomfrey told the transfiguration professor. “Especially the elder Potter. His core is acting… unstable.”

McGonagall made a sound like a soft gasp. “What does that mean? He did exert a lot of magic, but _unstable_?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t have the means to do any more extensive testing. I only checked it in the first place in case what he did exhausted his magic. The thing is, he’s not suffering from anything like magical exhaustion. The charm came back showing his core wasn’t depleted, but it was acting odd. Volatile. Most likely it’s just a trauma response. But…”

“What is it Poppy?”

Pomfrey hesitated. “His core seems far too large for his age. I don’t have the tools to check just how large it is, but even just from simple diagnostics I can tell it’s far more developed than it should be.”

Both women were quiet for a moment.

“I’ll let Albus know.” McGonagall finally said.

The Gryffindor head of house left after that to go check up on her lions, leaving Pomfrey to return alone. “I’m going to have the four of you stay here overnight.” She told them sternly.

“Is there something wrong?” Asked Granger fretfully. “Will we be in trouble?”

Pomfrey shook her head. “There’s nothing to worry about, Miss Granger. I just want to make sure no one is suffering any ill effects before I send you back to class. You all went through something very traumatic. I doubt very much you’ll be in any serious trouble for what happened. The Headmaster will be here shortly to speak with you all.”

Moments later, the infirmary door swung open and Dumbledore strode inside in all his purple and yellow glory.

 _Speak of the devil and he will arrive,_ Tom thought without any humor. He watched Dumbledore come closer with unease. Being so close to the man was making Tom’s hair stand on end. Dumbledore felt like being trapped in a lightning storm.

“Hello there, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger, Misters Potter.” He greeted with a nod. “I hear you four had quite the exciting night.”

The Headmaster pulled out his long, knobby wand, making Tom flinch. Dumbledore’s sharp eyes caught the slight movement and an odd expression crossed his face before vanishing behind a kind smile. He silently conjured a plush armchair and took a seat in front of the four children.

“Would you mind telling me what happened from the beginning?” He asked gently. Tom made sure to stare over Dumbledore’s shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. The old man’s gaze was too sharp, too knowing. Something about meeting those eyes made Tom’s teeth ache.

“Well, I guess it started when Professor Quirrell ran into the great hall to warn everyone about the troll, sir.” Granger began. “We were sitting together, Harry, Ron, and I, so we got up to follow the Prefects back to Gryffindor Tower as a group. But before we left, Draco Malfoy ran up asking Harry if he’d seen Tom.”

Dumbledore looked surprised. “Mister Malfoy?”

Granger nodded. “He said Tom wasn’t at the Slytherin table, that he hadn’t seen him all night. Draco was worried Tom wouldn’t have known about the troll, you see. We told him we hadn’t seen him either, and Draco ran back to the Slytherins.”

“What then?”

Granger shifted uncomfortably. Harry glanced at her and decided to continue the story instead. “I decided to go find Tom. He was probably somewhere down in the dungeons, and he didn’t know about the troll. Ron and Hermione came with me.”

“And you didn’t think to tell a professor, or even an older student?” Dumbledore asked, not unkindly. His voice made Tom sick.

“They were all busy! No one was listening to us.” Said Weasley, his voice too loud. He cringed when he realized he’d been yelling. 

Harry gave the redhead a comforting pat on the shoulder before turning back to Dumbledore. “There wasn’t time. The professors had all run off, and the prefects were busy taking the other students to the common rooms.”

Dumbeldore nodded, like Harry putting his life in danger like that was perfectly reasonable. Like Tom was worth it.

“We were heading to the dungeons when we saw the troll coming down the stairway. It saw us as soon as we saw it, and it started chasing us. We ran into a bathroom to hide, but it followed us there. I tried to get us with its club. Broke all the stalls. That’s when Tom showed up.”

Dumbledore’s eyes landed on Tom. He felt himself involuntarily freeze up, before making his muscles relax.

“And why weren’t you at dinner, Mister Potter?” Dumbledore asked in that horrible, understanding voice.

“I wanted to be alone.” He snapped.

“I understand Halloween is a difficult day for you. Minerva told me that you said earlier you remember the night your parents died.”

Tom swallowed thickly but gave no other acknowledgement. He wanted this conversation over already.

“What happened after?” Dumbledore asked gently. Tom glared at the man’s ridiculous hat. If he already spoke to McGonagall, should he already know all this? Why was he having to tell it all over again?

Granger spoke up when Tom refused to. “Then Tom killed the troll.” She said hesitantly. “He broke the mirrors with magic, and sent the glass at it. I don’t know what spell he used, he didn’t say anything. A levitation charm, maybe. The glass stabbed the troll and…” her face had gone pale. “There was a lot of blood.” she whispered. “It didn’t work though, just made the troll angry. So Tom, so he…”

“He drowned it.” Harry finished for her, eyes on Dumbeldore. 

The Headmaster’s expression was grave. “I see.” His blue eyes landed on Tom. “You managed to kill a fully grown mountain troll, all by yourself, at the age of eleven. That’s very impressive, Mister Potter. But it’s also very concerning, you understand. Why didn’t you try to incapacitate the troll, instead of kill it?”

Tom glanced briefly at Dumbledore’s face before quickly redirecting his gaze back over the man’s shoulder. “Too risky.” He said at last. “I had to make sure it couldn’t hurt Harry.”

Dumbledore’s expression shifted to something softer. “You did it to protect your brother.” It wasn’t a question.

Tom gave a jerky nod.

The Headmaster sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I understand why you did what you did, Mister Potter. It was self defense, and there was no dark magic involved. Still, what happened tonight cannot be repeated. Let’s not make a habit of killing magical creatures, shall we?”

Tom’s lips thinned. “As long as they don’t try to kill me or Harry first.”

Dumbledore stared at him, blue eyes piercing. Tom refused to make eye contact, which seemed to irritate and amuse the Headmaster in equal measures. “I suppose that’s only fair.” He said at last.

Dumbledore stood, vanishing his chair with a simple wand wave. “I dare say I have taken up enough of your time tonight. I’ll leave you to your rest, if you have no questions.” He said with a benevolent smile, looking at Harry.

Harry shook his head, and Dumbledore turned to leave.

“Actually Headmaster, I do have a question,” Tom called out, making the man pause. “What was a mountain troll doing in the school in the first place?”

Dumbeldore turned to look at Tom over his shoulder. “I haven’t the faintest idea, my boy.” He lied with a smile.

Tom watched him leave, face blank. He lay down, feeling far more unnerved than he’d like to admit.

* * *

Hours later, Tom was still lying awake on his bed in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had long ago left for her own quarters, leaving the four of them alone. The children hadn’t had any desire to chat after what happened earlier that night. They’d all laid down and fallen asleep almost immediately. Something probably helped by the potion Pomfrey had given then.

Tom could hear the soft breathing of Harry and his friends as they slept beside him. The sound was comforting in a way Tom really couldn’t explain. It was a reminder they were all still alive. That he’d gotten there in time.

Tom knew he’d be devastated if anything ever happened to Harry, but he was shocked to realize how relieved he was that Weasley and Granger were safe as well. They were good friends to his brother, and it would have destroyed Harry to lose them. More than that, though, _Tom_ would have been upset too.

He stared up at the ceiling, thoughts in turmoil.

Tom was… _glad,_ that the two children were alive. He realized that, had anything happened to them, he would have mourned them. He would have grieved for their loss. He would have gotten over it quickly, of course. Grief was useless. Feeling bad about losing someone doesn’t bring them back. It just makes you miserable. 

But if Granger or Weasley had been killed by the troll, Tom suddenly knew that he’d be _upset_. He’d never thought he’d feel that way about anyone but Harry.

The bed dipping to one side jerked Tom back to awareness. He tensed, ready to defend himself, before he recognized Harry’s presence climbing into bed beside him.

Neither boy said anything as Tom moved over to allow his brother to lie down beside him.

Tom kept very still as Harry’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and he settled in to sleep. Slowly, agonisingly, Tom relaxed. 

His eyes slid closed as he finally allowed himself to fall asleep. Harry forgave him.

* * *

The next morning Madam Pomfrey checked them over once more and, deciding everyone was well enough to be released, sent them on their way. The group was quiet as they made their way down the halls. Tom could feel the other three’s eyes on him, but ignored it the best he could.

Once they made it to the stairway, they paused. Tom desperately wanted a shower, but he also didn’t want to leave Harry just yet after coming so close to losing him the night before. Tom almost asked to accompany them up to Gryffindor Tower, but decided he didn’t want to have to deal with the lions grilling him for information so early in the morning. At least Tom could count on Slytherin to have some tact once he got back to the common room, if they were even still there. Unlike Gryffindors, most snakes tended to wake early. They’d likely all be up at breakfast by the time Tom got down to the snake pit.

Still, Tom hesitated.

He’d finally scrounged up the motivation to tell Harry goodbye when Granger stepped forward, her expression determined.

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life last night.” She said firmly.

Tom jolted. Her thanks were the last thing he had expected. He didn’t think either she or Weasley would want anything to do with him after seeing what he was capable of. He figured he had scarred the two for life.

Tom searched her face for any decete. His eyes locked with hers and he _searched._ There was no agenda, no secret motivation. She genuinely felt grateful for what he had done. She was nervous around him, yes. Tom’s viciousness had terrified her. But she had realized last night that he’d used his viciousness to _protect_ her, even if Tom had mostly done it for Harry. Tom saw in her eyes that Granger had decided Tom was someone she wanted as a friend, even if he scared her.

Tom felt his breath catch.

He’d never had anyone but Harry overlook his nastiness before, and still want him. Still call him _friend._

Tom looked at this little girl, with eyes of steel and hopes so large they crushed the world around her to make room for their immenseness, and decided _I would kill for you, if you asked it._

“You’re welcome.” He whispered, eyes wide, awed. 

She smiled at him, brilliant and blinding and Tom folded away the name Hermione Granger deep inside his heart where before Harry had only existed.

_Anyone who looks at you and does not see greatness must be blind._

Hermoine wrapped her arms around Tom and pulled him in close and gave him the first hug that was not Harry in his life. Something deep inside Tom began to crack and splinter and with his whole being he _ached._

 _I will give you the world_ , he swore. _I will make a new world for you and for Harry and I will put you both at the top where nothing can harm you ever again._

Hermione pulled back when Tom failed to return her hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s alright,” he softly interrupted, “I’m just not used to hugs. You don’t have to apologize.” He looked at her, small and afraid and so painfully hopeful. “Thank you.” He said, and he _meant it_.

Hermione nodded. She seemed to understand he was thanking her for more than a hug and an apology. She stepped back and glanced at Weasley, who was looking out of place and awkward. When the red headed boy didn’t do anything, she gently kicked his ankle.

Weasley yelped and glared at her, before shifting awkwardly and giving Tom a nod. “Yeah, like ‘Mione said. Thanks. Things probably would have been really bad, if you hadn’t shown up. Just uh, maybe next time could you do something that _won’t_ give me nightmares?”

“ _Ronald!”_

Tom smirked at Weasley, sharp and deadly. “No promises.” 

Instead of blanching like Tom expected him to, Weasley looked contemplative. “I guess that’s fair.” He grinned. “You’re scary strong, you know that? And also just, plain scary.”

Tom blinked at the redhead. Maybe Weasley wasn’t all that bad after all. “Thanks.” He shifted, suddenly awkward. “I should probably head down to the dungeons now. I’ll um, see you lot later then.” 

Weasley nodded, already climbing the stairs. “Later then.” He called.

Tom’s eyes found Harry’s, who was looking at him with an expression that was so damn _proud._ “I knew they’d grow on you.”

Tom glared half heartedly. “Ok, I’m leaving now. This has been more than enough emotional vulnerability for one day.” He snapped without any real heat.

Harry grinned and made a shooing motion. “Go. I’ll see you at breakfast later.”

Tom nodded and descended down to the dungeons, leaving his brother behind even though his heart ached against it.

The Slytherin common room was empty when Tom arrived. Breakfast was in full swing, so he wasn’t really surprised to find he was the only snake in the den. Tom made his way down to the first year’s floor, stopping first in his room to grab a change of clothes and his toiletries, before heading to the shared boys bathroom. Unlike Gryffindor Tower, the dungeons were large enough that each student got their own room. They were fairly small, only enough space for a bed, desk, and wardrobe, but it offered privacy that the Tower lacked. Tom was infinitely grateful for the small mercy. Sadly, Slytherin didn’t boast individual bathrooms. Instead, each floor had a shared bathroom that one had to enter through the hall.

Tom took a quick shower, scrubbing at his skin until it turned red and raw to wash away the memory of thick sticky blood. He’d been too exhausted the night before to even ask Pomfrey if there was somewhere he could bathe. With everything that had happened, the thought of getting clean had completely slipped his mind.

Even though Pomfrey had vanished the gore off him, it didn’t wash away the memory, or the itching of his skin.

Tom got changed into fresh clothes and went about brushing his teeth and hair as quickly as he could. He stopped by his room long enough to return the toiletries and drop his bloodstained robes into a hamper to be vanished away to wherever in the castle they were washed. He grabbed his book bag on the way out, then raced up the stairs to head to the great hall for breakfast.

Breakfast was already half over by the time Tom arrived. He met Harry and the others right inside the entrance and went together to sit at the Gryffindor table. The soft hum of conversation stopped the moment they got close, the eyes of the whole pride on the four first years. Tom ignored them as he took a seat between Harry and Hermione, Ron sitting to his brother’s other side. 

He could feel the prickle of eyes on him as he made his plate and started to tuck in, the other three following suit. 

Tom glanced up to see Harry’s other dorm mates sitting on the other side of the table stared at Tom wide eyed. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Did you really kill the troll?” Seamus blurted out. 

The whole table seemed to lean in at his question, straining to hear Tom’s answer.

Tom set his fork down on the plate with a sharp _clang_. “Where did you hear about that?” He snapped.

Seamus flinched back at Tom’s sharp tone. “It’s all anyone’s been talking about all morning. Apparently someone overheard McGonagall telling the other professors. They say you three went and found the troll last night, and you blew it up!”

Ron snorted. “More like _it_ found _us._ ” He grumbled.

“So you did fight the troll!” Gasped Seamus.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tom scoffed. “We didn’t go running after it like some idiot thrill seekers. It tried to kill people important to me, so I killed it first. Simple as that.”

The other children seemed to realize with a shock that Tom had _killed_ something. Had ended another, living creature’s life without any remorse. He wasn’t surprised to see the fear. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting any less.

“Ronnikins!”

Tom jolted with the loud arrival of the Weasley twins squeezing in to sit on either side of their younger brother.

“We were so worried!” Cried Fred.

George wrapped his brother in a one armed hug. “McGonagall came by last night. Said you were in the hospital wing.” 

“So glad to see you’re in one piece-“

“-imagine if we had to break the news to Mum. Tell her you got eaten by a troll.”

They both shuddered. Ron went pale.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” He asked, voice strained.

“Nope!” Both twins said at the same time. “McGonagall already did it for us.” Added George.

So how, Ron went even paler. “She’s going to _kill me._ ”

The twins patted him on the shoulder. “You had a good run of it.”

“Managed to survive a mountain troll only to be taken out by dear old mum.” They shook their heads. “The troll would have been kinder.” Added Fred. He then leaned over Harry to look Tom in the eyes. “Thank you, for what you did. Honestly.” George gave him a sharp nod from the other side of Ron, both twin’s expressions unusually serious.

Tom swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to handle the genuine gratitude, so he just nodded instead. It seems to be enough. They went back to smiling and teasing their little brother, and with the Weasley’s public show of support and gratitude, the atmosphere around the Gryffindor table relaxed. Tom couldn’t help but wonder if it had been intentional.

* * *

Tom had opted for going back with Harry to the Gryffindor common room after breakfast. Aside from the required study hall in the afternoon, first years had Friday’s free. Tom planned to spend as much of his day as he could glued to Harry’s side, until he could convince his hindbrain that his brother wasn’t going to just drop dead at any moment. He sat and worked on essays with Hermione while Ron and Harry played a game of wizard chess.

The essay he was working on, however, wasn’t his. Tom found he could charge a pretty penny for forging other student’s essays for them. It had started with Gregory Goyle. Tom had gotten so fed up with listening to the other boy complain about his transfiguration essay that he’d offered to just write it for him. Goyle had thought he was joking. He wasn’t. Of course Tom wasn’t going to just do it for free, nor was he going to risk being caught. He’d demanded every one of Goyle’s previous essays (which the boy had miraculously kept) which he used as reference. Tom proceeded to copy Goyle’s handwriting to draw up a lackluster essay that would get Goyle a passing grade and nothing more, then demanded a galleon in return. To Tom’s surprise, the boy had happily handed it over, and he soon found himself with a little business.

So far nearly every student up to fourth year had bought an essay off Tom. Even some of the fifth years had joined in, overworked from studying for their O.W.L.s. The fifth year essays were more of a challenge, but far more rewarding for it.

No professors had caught on thus far, and they never would if Tom could help it. Between the essays and the collection of stolen valuables he was planning to sell in Knockturn once school ended, Tom had a bit more money to add to his and Harry’s vaults.

It wasn’t much, yet, but it was a start. 

Tom ended up spending the rest of the morning holed up in Gryffindor Tower. Eventually he was pulled into a game of wizarding chess against Ron, which he was actually surprised to lose. After they went on to play a few rounds of exploding snap, which Tom won easily.

When he finally made his way back down to the dungeons, it was after lunch. Tom was immediately ambushed by Malfoy, who dragged him into the common room where he was once again made to retell the events of the night before, but this time the reactions he was met with were awe and grudging respect rather than distrust. It was a nice change.

Eventually the Slytherins lost interest in grilling Tom for more information and went about their own business, leaving only Malfoy sitting beside him.

Tom hesitated for a moment, before deciding _to hell with it_.

“Draco?” 

The blond looked up. “Yes?”

“Have… have you ever heard of an ability to.. well I guess, leech energy? From other living things?” He whispered. “Do you know if it’s possible for someone to just… steal the life force from another living thing?”

Malfoy pondered for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t know of any spells that do that, but it wouldn’t surprise me if there are some out there. They’d be very dark though. Like, really _really_ dark, probably. The kind of spells that alter your magic.”

Tom bit his lip. “I’m not talking about a spell though. It’d be more like… an inherent ability, I guess.” 

“I don’t think something like that is possible.” He looked sharply at Tom. “Why do you ask?”

 _Shit._ Tom shrugged. “Just curiosity.” 

Malfoy looked at him like he didn’t believe the lie, but he didn’t press the issue either. Tom left shortly after for the library. He doubted he’d find anything there, but it was at least worth a shot. He spent the rest of the day pouring over books on energy transfer and soul magic, but found no answers for why his magic cannablized the energy around it. Tom thought of shriveled plants and dead lizards, of the blood inked book in Knockturn and the troll who’s magic he had _devoured,_ and Tom feared what he was becoming.

What he already was.

* * *

It was a week and a day after the troll incident, and tomorrow was to be the first quidditch match of the season. Tom wouldn’t have cared, if the match weren’t between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry would be playing. Harry would be flying, hundreds of feet up in the air, with only a broom to hold on to. Harry would be against _Slytherin._ Tom knew his house, knew their viciousness. 

So he had walked right up to Marcus Flint in the middle of the common room and, in front of the entire house, told him, “I drowned a fully grown mountain troll in its own blood because it tried to hurt my brother. I suggest you make sure you and your team aren’t too rough tomorrow.” He gave the sixth year a kind smile. “I understand quidditch is a dangerous sport. A few bruises are just part of the game.” The smile turned sharp and full of teeth. “Try anything though, and your families won’t have enough of you left to bury.”

He’d turned on his heel and left, the common room silent behind him. The snakes skirted around Tom the rest of the day.

Their fear made something warm bloom in Tom’s chest. He was untouchable. He might have been ignored before, but now, christened in blood and black magic, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Oh, Tom knew it would wear off eventually. He’d have challengers, those seeking to prove themselves, to knock him off his throne. To see if he actually had the magic to back it up. Eventually, the infamy he got from the troll would wear off, and those high on the pecking order would question if it had even happened at all.

Tom would be ready.

He’d make them _beg._

* * *

The next morning Tom sat perched beside Hermione on the quidditch bleachers, waiting for the game to start. He ignored the excited chatter around him, instead trying to distract himself from his nerves by thinking over what Harry had told him last night after he’d snuck into the Tower to sleep.

Snape had been bitten by the three headed dog. 

Tom didn’t know when it could’ve have possibly happened. He hadn’t felt the warding spell activate aside from Hagrid’s regular visits, so the only explanation was Snape had gone with the giant to visit the hellhound for whatever reason, and had gotten bitten in the process.

That, or Snape had somehow negated the effects of the spell and passed through undetected.

The first option seemed more likely, but that raised the question; what was Snape doing, visiting the hellhound? Why would they need more than just Hagrid? And what was he doing to get himself bitten?

Then Tom realized, the troll. _Why_ was there a troll wandering around? On Halloween, no less? A night when the whole school would be there in the great hall, including the professors. Including _Dumbeldore_.

A night when magic was thick in the air, and dark spells flowed easily from wands? 

_The troll was a distraction._

Someone had tried to steal whatever was hidden on the third floor while the professors would be distracted by the troll. Meaning Snape had either gotten bitten when he rushed in to stop the theft, or-

_Or he’s the thief._

But no, Snape had been the first one there after Tom killed the troll, and he was pretty sure the potions master hadn’t been injured. He must have been bitten after. But why would he waste the opportunity to steal the weapon, if he was really after it? Tom couldn’t reason why Snape would go back _after_ the troll was dealt with, unless it was for a reason other than to take whatever was hidden there.

But if not Snape, then who?

_Quirrell was the one who told everyone about the troll. But why was he down in the dungeons in the first place?_

If Quirrell was even in the dungeons. The troll certainly hadn’t been, Tom would have smelled it if it had. It was on the ground floor, wandering around until it spotted a trio of first years. 

So either Quirrell was after the weapon, or Snape was. Either option boded ill for Tom. He needed to steal it first, and soon.

A loud cheer rose up, pulling Tom back to the present. Down on the pitch, two lines of red and green were stepping out onto the field, signaling the players had arrived.

The game was about to begin.

Tom spotted Harry immediately. He was dwarfed by the other players, tiny down there on the field. 

There was a sharp whistle, and the two teams took to the air.

Unease filled Tom’s stomach like flapping insects. So much could go wrong. He fiddled with his wand nervously, ready to leap into action the moment it looked like Harry was in danger.

The game started in earnest, the players flying around so high up they looked like flocks of birds. Tom’s eyes stayed glued to Harry, watching as his brother lazily circled around, likely searching for the snitch.

He flinched when the stand around him erupted into cheers. Evidently, Gryffindor scored a goal. Tom could not possibly care less.

Hagrid arrived at some point and sat beside the rest of Harry’s friends. Tom hardly noticed.

He felt his stomach drop out when a bludger went right for Harry, but the boy managed to swerve out of the way just in time. Tom made sure to memorize the face of the Slytherin who’d nearly struck his brother. The bludger hadn’t hit, so Tom wouldn’t do anything to the other snake. At least not yet. 

Harry dove suddenly. Tom realized he must be after the snitch. 

Flint suddenly flew in his path, blocking Harry and keeping him from the game winning ball. Anger curled in Tom’s gut, but Flint had followed the rules. Harry wasn’t hurt. 

Tom felt himself nearly crawling out of his seat as the game progressed and more bludgers whizzed over Harry’s very vulnerable skull.

 _This game will be the death of me,_ he thought darkly.

It took Tom an unacceptably long time to realize something was wrong. That Harry’s broom was out of He’d thought maybe Harry was doing it on purpose, but then his broom jerked violently to one side and Tom realized his brother had lost control of the thing that was keeping him suspended in the air.

Tom jumped to his feet immediately, wand in hand. “He’s lost control of his broom.”

“What? No, that’s not possible.” Said Weasley.

“ _Look at it!”_ He snapped. “Harry doesn’t fly like that! Something’s wrong.” Then the broom started to roll.

Terror filled Tom, closing off his airway and sending his thoughts spiraling. He had to stop the broom somehow. Get it under control. Be ready with a levitation charm, just in case. 

Why wasn’t anyone _doing anything?!_

Tom ignored everything around him, his eyes glued on Harry as his brother was tossed around by the rogue broom. He half heard something about _dark magic_ and _Snape_ and _where are you going?!_ but Tom was too focused on Harry to really process what any of it meant.

_Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, please don’t fall._

The broom suddenly jerked, sending Harry over the side. Tom’s wand shot up, levitation charm on his tongue, when Harry caught himself with one hand, stopping his fall.

Tom’s hands shook as he cast the bouncing charm, just in case. _Don’t you dare fall_.

The broom began to quiver so violently that it looked as if Harry would lose his grip, and Tom decided he had had _enough_.

He wasn’t thinking, reacting only on instinct, as his magic reached out and tangled around the broom, forcing it into submission. He felt the web of a dark spell cast over it, puppeteering the broom on mariette strings. Tom’s magic snared around the spell and _ripped_. The curse pulled free, leaving the broom docile in the air.

Tom’s magic latched onto the curse, digging in like hooks and reeling it in to hungry, waiting jaws. The threads of magic seeped into Tom’s core, _consuming._

He tasted familiarity on his tongue.

Harry swung back onto his broom and dove toward the ground. He pulled up just in time, but still crashed onto the grass with an exaggerated bounce, the golden snitch clasped between his teeth.

 _Nice to know the bouncing charm works,_ Tom thought hysterically.

* * *

After the game, Tom screamed his head off at Harry and demanded he never step foot on a broom again, _I swear to God Harry I will chain you to the ground don’t you test me_. Harry, of course, just laughed.

The brothers and their two friends wound up invited for tea with Hagrid, where they learned that the Cerberus’ name was Fluffy and that Nicolas Flamel was involved with the whole mess.

 _The Philosopher’s Stone,_ Tom realized with cold dread, _of course its the fucking Philosopher’s Stone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bitch and a half to write. Technically not Sunday anymore either, but I tried. *shrug*  
> Went back and did some editing of earlier chapters. No huge changes, mostly just fixed up some grammar stuff and continuity things (forgot that I’d already established that Tom knew Lily and James died on Halloween, whoops)  
> So glad Tom’s finally starting to bond with people instead of just using him. Hermione shows him one shred of acceptance and he’s suddenly like “I would literally kill for you”.  
> I had all sorts of things I wanted to say here, but I forgot the moment I started writing, rip. No thoughts, head empty.  
> Well, I think I’m going to go to bed now, and never try to write a full chapter + edit in a single day again. That sucked.  
> Oh hey, we just passed 50k words. Holy fuck.


	9. Pale White Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything white is pure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warning for this one

* * *

* * *

  
Hagrid had shooed them out of his hut right after he’d made the mistake of mentioning Flamel, making up a flimsy excuse there on the spot and frantically sending them on their way. It was all very unconvincing, but there wasn’t much the children could do about it. Hagrid wasn’t about to offer up more information anytime soon. As much as Tom would have liked to learn how to get past the Cerberus, he at least now knew what the beast was guarding.

Tom clung to Harry’s side on the walk back to the castle, fingers tangled together in a strangled grip. Harry didn’t seem to mind. He kept his side pressed close to Tom, as if to remind him he was still here, still alive. It would probably be a while before Tom felt safe letting Harry get far from him. He was deeply shaken after seeing his brother nearly fall to his death. 

Someone actively wanted his brother dead. Someone had tried to murder Harry, in front of the entire school no less. 

Whoever they were, they were bold. Either they didn’t care for consequences, or they didn’t think they’d be caught.

Hermoine had said it was Snape who’d cast the curse. Said she saw him muttering with eyes on Harry, and so she set him on fire to stop him. Tom appreciated her dedication to protecting Harry, he really did.

Only, the spell he’d accidentally cannibalized hadn’t tasted like Snape’s magic. It hadn’t tasted like any of the professors, not even Quirrell. That didn’t stop the magic from being horrifically familiar though. 

The effects the consumed spell were having on Tom was… concerning. His hands still trembled slightly and he could barely focus on anything past Harry’s hand in his own.

He’d been too out of it to really notice anything wrong after the troll, aside from maybe restlessness that’d he’d blamed on seeing Harry come so close to dying. But with the quidditch match, cannibalizing the spell…

Tom had to come to terms with the fact there was something very, very wrong with him.

It wasn’t just the surge of energy, the sudden rush of power. That made some amount of sense to him. He was consuming magic, adding it to his own core (or so Tom hypothesized ).

He wasn’t expecting the _wholeness_ after consuming the spell. Like he’d been missing something, and he’d finally gotten a piece of it back. Only a small sliver, not enough to fill the void. It left him _aching_.

Tom felt like there was a gaping hole in the center of his being. A chasm, vast and yawning. It was hungry, cavernous, and so, so very lonely. That small trickle of magic helped to fill a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, would never be enough.

He was missing something intrinsic to his being.

And he had no idea where to find those pieces to put himself back together.

Being close to Harry helped soothe the ache. The closer he pressed to his brother’s side, the less he felt like he was missing part of himself.

Hermoine’s sharp tone broke through the fog of Tom’s brain. “How did you two know about the Cerberus then?”

Tom blinked at her. What had he missed?

“Tom found it the second week of school.” Harry admitted hesitantly. _Wait, what?_

_Oh._

Ron and Hermione hadn’t known about the third floor. They’d been completely lost when Harry asked Hagrid about the Cerberus. 

“ _Tom_!” Gasped Hermione, “You can’t go breaking rules like that! What if you got hurt? What if you got caught and _expelled_?!” She admonished.

“I didn't get caught though.” Tom muttered, the slightest bit petulant. 

“That’s besides the point!”

Tom grimaced. “I needed to know what might be hidden there. I knew whatever the Cerberus was guarding, used to be in Gringotts.” Tom explained. “Hagrid took it from a vault right before the break in. Someone tried to rob _Gringotts_ for it. If they were willing to do that, then they’d probably be willing to break into Hogwarts for it too.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. She made a soft _oh_ sound. “But we’re _students_. It’s not our job to worry about that sort of thing. Why can’t you just leave it to the adults to worry about?”

“In my experience, adults are rarely ever reliable.” Tom grumbled. 

Hermione looked ready to argue before Harry said, “they really haven’t had the best track record, ‘Moine.”

“Adults are completely _useless_.” Tom hissed.

“That’s a bit harsh.” Said Ron.

“They let a _troll_ into a castle full of _schoolchildren_. Dumbledore is using a giant hellhound to guard a magic rock.” 

“Magic rock?” Harry cut in. “Wait, you know what it is.” A smile bloomed on his face.

Tom huffed. “I have a theory. Hagrid mentioned Nicolas Flamel, who is best known for his creation of something called the Philosopher’s Stone. It’s a magic artifact that’s supposed to have the ability to bypass certain base laws of alchemy, make the impossible possible. Like turn rocks into edible food, metal into gold. It can also give immortality. The _Elixir of Life_ , they call it.”

Hermoine gasped. “Oh! Right! Now I remember where I heard that name. Flamel is mentioned in _Ancient Magic’s of the Most Bizarre_.”

“Nerds.” Muttered Ron.

“Now who do we know who might be interested in a rock that grants immortality?” Tom asked the three. Ron and Hermione looked confused, but Harry’s expression darkened.

“You still think it’s Voldemort.”

Ron flinched at the name, while Hermione went pale. Tom just nodded. “There wasn’t a body. The Dark Lord simply disappeared. _Something_ happened that Halloween. He wouldn’t have just vanished for no reason. I can’t find much on his ideology, his beliefs, but he was a _Dark Lord_. He wouldn’t have just… just _retired_.” Tom shook his head. “I think he was hurt, somehow. And the Stone seems like something that could bring him back to power.”

Ron looked about ready to faint, poor thing. Harry was just grim.

“But… but there’s no proof he _is_ still alive.” Hermione tried.

“There’s no proof he _isn’t_ , either. Dumbledore seems to think he’s still out there. Besides, like I said. They never found a body. Without a body, I’m not about to believe that he’s actually dead. I’d like to have a contingency plan, in case he is after the Stone. I don’t want to see something as powerful as the Stone end up in the hands of someone who probably wants me and my brother dead.”

“We’re just kids.” Ron almost whined. Normally, it would have annoyed Tom, but in this case he fully understood. “Why should we have to worry about this sort of thing?”

Tom laughed bitterly. “Because life’s a bitch.”

They walked a while in silence before Hermione spoke up. “What do you mean, you don’t know much about… about You-Know-Who’s ideology?”

“I don’t know much of _anything_ about him, actually. After… after I found out he went after Harry, I researched him. Looked up everything I could about that night, about the war. There’s _nothing_. All the books talk about Harry surviving the killing curse, about the Dark Lord dying, but not much else. All the books are just ‘ _there was a war. You-Know-Who was very dark and very evil. A lot of people died. Then baby Harry Potter killed him, the end_.’ The only information on the Dark Lord is how he was defeated.” Tom glanced at his brother. “Mostly they just like to talk about you and your fancy forehead ornament.”

Harry made a face.

“There’s nothing on the actual war.” Tom continued, starting to chew on his thumbnail. “No mention of major events, how it started. Nothing about what they were fighting a war on, aside from some vague mentions of bloody purity. They don’t even know who the Dark Lord was, before it all. No one knows his real name, who he used to be.” Tom thought back to an old wand maker _“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that gave you that scar…”_ Tom wasn’t sure he wanted to chase that rabbit. He swallowed. “There was over a decade of the Dark Lord in power, and yet, nothing.”

“That does seem odd.” Hermione agreed. “There should be something, shouldn’t there?”

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Ron asked, looking progressively more uncomfortable with the conversation as it went on. “The war’s over. I might’ve been born after, but my older brothers grew up during it. They said it was _awful_. People probably just want to forget.”

“It’s never that simple.” Said Hermione. “There’s a saying. If you forget the past, you’re doomed to repeat it.” 

Tom dropped his hand from his mouth, a drop of blood welling up on his thumb. “It bothers me, that there’s so little information. I’ve looked into other wars, other dark lords. There’s far more information on the war with Gridlewald, yet it ended half a century ago.” Tom stared up at the castle as they neared, “It’s war propaganda. If they’ve erased the war, what else have they erased? What else have they _lied about_?”

Hermoine’s expression went dark. “History is written by the victors.” She quoted.

Tom nodded, eyes on the looming castle ahead. “History is written by the victors.”

* * *

Tom wasn’t willing to leave Harry’s side for the rest of the day, or the day after. Not after nearly losing his brother twice in just over a week. Unfortunately come Monday, they had to split ways for class. Tom hid it well, but every moment he wasn’t right next to Harry he felt like he was crawling apart from anxiety.

Someone was trying to kill his brother.

Someone nearly _had_.

He’d spoken with Hermione, asked her to keep her eyes and ears out for Tom when he wouldn’t be there next to Harry. She’d done well, defending his brother by setting Snape on fire, even if he wasn’t sure the potions master was actually the one after Harry. The spell he’d consumed hadn’t felt like Snape. Then again, it hasn’t felt much like Quirrell either. Besides those two, Tom wasn’t sure who else could have been after Harry. 

Tom doubted anyone would make another attempt on Harry’s life so soon, but that didn’t stop his lizard brain from worrying. It didn’t help that whatever effects he’d gotten from consuming the spell on Harry’s broom still hasn’t left him. The empty ache in his chest never went away, not that he’d noticed it. As the days wore on it got easier to ignore, but sometime when he was alone he thought the cavern in his chest might open him up and swallow him.

Tom tried to distract himself with Harry and Hermione and Ron. He stuck close to his brother, which soothed the ache. And now that the other two knew about the Stone, they could be included in the planning. Hermione had warned against trying to steal the Stone themselves, as much as the idea tempted Tom. They were, after all, only first years.

“It’s protected. Probably by more than just the Cerberus. Besides, even if we do somehow get it, I don’t think we’d be able to do it without being found out. Dumbledore wouldn’t let it be stolen.” Tom thought the girl put far too much faith in the headmaster. She did have a point though. Dumbledore likely wouldn’t give up the Stone easily. Tom wasn’t sure he liked his chances of taking it successfully, but he liked the chance of someone else getting it even less.

“Precaution then.” He’d compromised. “We’ll find out how to get past the trap door, just in case. No plans to actually steal it, just make sure we can do something if we have to.”

She’d stared at him with narrowed eyes. Like she was judging his truthfulness. Like she knew something Tom didn’t. “Fine. Promise you won’t steal the Stone unless it’s to keep it out of the hands of Snape or- or You-Know-Who.”

Tom felt something ugly twist inside him. Felt seen in a way he didn’t like. And yet, part of him was pleased that Hermione understood him so well, and stuck around anyway. (He’d barely admitted to himself that he wanted the Stone for more reasons than to just keep it from the Dark Lord.)

“I promise.”

And that had been that.

It still got them no closer to actually figuring out how to get past that damn dog. Hagrid had been wary of them ever since his slip up, only giving a passing greeting before hurrying away the single time they managed to seek him out since the Quidditch game. They’d have to be patient and wait it out before Hagrid would become comfortable enough to let something else slip. 

As the days went on, Tom’s nervousness slowly went away. He was still on edge and watchful for any more attempts on Harry’s life, but he no longer felt like crawling out of his own skin every time his brother left his sight.

Breakfast one morning resulted in an owl from Gringotts finally arriving with the documents Tom had requested all the way back in September. The contents were incredibly disappointing. Griphook had written that most of the Potter’s legal information had been sealed, and the Ministry was being unusually uncooperative about the whole affair. The goblin was able to find out that Tom and Harry were originally supposed to go to Frank and Alice Longbottom in the case of their parents' death. However, the Longbottoms were currently permanent residents of St Mungos after prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse and were thus not fit to care for two orphan boys.

After the Longbottoms, next down the line should have been one Sirius Black, their legal godfather, if not for the little hiccup of Black’s bloody _incarceration_. According to Griphook, Black had life in prison for the murder of a wizard named Peter Pettegrew, as well as the deaths of a number of muggles. _Fan-fucking-tastic_. 

The letter also stated that, aside from the boy’s school vault and the Potter vault that would be available to them after age seventeen, there was one other vault in their parent’s name. But once again, all information was sealed, and Griphook didn’t have the authority to find out more. The goblin said whoever was in charge of the management of the vault had requested all information and transactions to remain secret and, as it was within the goblins domain, there was nothing he could do to find out more. The goblins were not willing to break their customers' trust for anything, no matter how much it pissed Tom off.

The Ministry however, was fair game. Griphook said that he could pursue some less than legal avenues to procure what information they were withholding. Unfortunately, to do so wouldn’t be cheap.

Tom couldn’t afford to take up Griphook’s offer. At least not yet. 

It was alright though. Tom had patience in spades.

* * *

The fall air was crisp and cool as Tom set out for the grounds keeper's hut. He was alone this time, which felt strange. All his life, Harry had stuck beside him like a shadow. Even the presence of Ron and Hermione had become familiar.

Tom had wanted Harry and the others to tag along to visit Hagrid. Sadly, the Gryffindors were off attending History of Magic at the moment, and Tom wasn’t willing to wait any longer.

It might be a good thing, Tom told himself, to go alone. He’d likely have better luck getting the information he needed out of Hagrid without the others around. Ron and Hermione were many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.

Still, it left lonely, to travel the path by himself. Tom found he didn’t much like it. Eventually he made it to Hagrid’s hut just as the towering man stepped out his front door. His face lit up as soon as he saw the first year, though dimmed a bit in confusion to see he was alone.

“Tom!” Hagrid called out, quieting down some as the boy drew nearer. “What are yeh doin’ out ‘ere? Where’s yer brother?”

Tom eyed the crossbow Hagrid held wearily. “Harry’s in history and couldn’t make it. I had a free period though, and thought I might visit you.”

“Don’ yeh have homework ter do?”

“Already got it all done.”

Hagrid nodded. “Good lad. Well, I s’pose you could come with me ter check on the unicorns. Something’s been killing them.”

Tom didn’t have to fake his shock. “That’s horrible.” He whispered. Killing unicorns? Very, very few creatures were willing to hurt a unicorn. They were so incredibly light that to do so was enough to corrupt one’s magic. Whatever was going after them had to be either incredibly desperate, or lacking all sense of self preservation.

“Com’on then. I’ll show yeh the herd.”

Tom followed behind Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest. Oddly, he didn’t feel any unease trekking through the woods. Instead, he felt calmer than he had anywhere in the castle. He hadn’t really noticed it before then, never been close enough to the forest to feel it, but there was something drawing him to the woods. The trees sang with ancient magic. The ground beneath his feet practically vibrated with it. There was something here. Something ancient and powerful that called to him. The deeper they went, the more Tom felt it.

The magic of the woods curled around him, welcoming. It felt familiar the same way Hogwarts was familiar. Like he’d walked these leaf covered trails hundreds of times before.

It set Tom’s heart aching for what he once had. For what he’d likely never have again.

He touched the old trees as he passed. Felt their years beneath his fingertips. On a whim he pulled off his shoes and walked barefoot, soaking up the magic beneath his soles. His toes dug into the cold dirt, anchoring him the ageless earth.

The forest was alive in a way the castle could never be. It was wild magic, pure and feral and untethered. It couldn’t be contained. Couldn’t be harnessed, only directed. It would give, if you asked, but it would also take and take and take. 

Tom could feel eyes on him as he followed behind Hagrid. Could sense the inhabitants of the forest around them by the prickle on his neck. He felt like he’d been carved open and lain bare. Like someone had split his guts open to devine his character in the spread of his intestines. The forest had cracked him open to peer inside his heart, that black festering thing, and it accepted. There was no good and evil, in the law of the wild. There was only survival.

Shivers wracked his spine, gooseflesh blistering his arms. The eyes of the birch trees watched his every movement. 

Eventually Hagrid stopped, seemingly unaware of the forest watching their every move. He put his fingers to his lips and gave out a piercing whistle. Moments later a chorus of whinnies answered Hagrid’s call.

Bright white bodies broke through the underbrush, coming to a stop on the path before the Groundskeeper. The unicorns stared at Hagrid, nostrils flaring. Tom felt his heart drop out.

There was something ethereal about the creatures. They were too white for forest life, like dirt and grim refused to cling to their pearlescent fur. Their eyes were bright honey gold, with square pupils like a goat. They were actually incredibly goat-like all around, from their shaggy beards to their cloven hooves to their large ears. They had manes like horses, but tails like a donkey. And their horns, bone while and twisted and wicked sharp. Not just made for goring but for slicing. They were curved like a scimitar, blade like and deadly. Some had faint pink stains.

The unicorns stared at Tom with too knowing eyes. Their magic swirled around him, thick and heavy and wild. It was not light, like he expected. It wasn’t dark either. It had no place on that spectrum. It simply was. Wild magic, free magic, without bounds, without limits.

They were ancient and eternal and not entirely of the living. They were more alive than anything else on the earth.

Tom’s fingers trembled.

The unicorns stepped forwards, cautious at first, then all together. They crowded around Tom, nibbling his hair, his clothes. They pressed against his sides, caressing his chest with their soft faces. They came up, one by one, to blow into his face. He blew back by instinct.

With his fingers finally stopped trembling, tangled in thick manes and beards. One came up behind him to rest it’s head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“They really like yeh.” Hagrid said, softer than Tom was used to hearing him speak. He still flinched at the unexpected sound. The unicorns didn’t stir. “Blimey, they really like yeh.” Hagrid muttered while giving one unicorn a scratch. “They don’ normally warm up ter people so quick. Don’ really like strangers, see. They were even wary ‘round me at firs’. I haven’t seen ‘em act like this since…” Hagrid trailed off, eyes going sad. “Haven’t seen ‘em act like this in fifty years.”

Tom didn’t know what to say to that. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. ~~Knew that he really didn’t.~~

“You said something’s been killing them?” He asked softly, scratching along a unicorn’s withers.

Hagrid nodded. “Lost two in ther last month alone. Don’ know what’s doin’ it, but whatever it is has been drinkin’ ‘em dry.”

Tom went pale, his hands clenching over the soft fur. To kill a unicorn was one thing. To drink its blood was another. “Can anything be done?”

“Not much we can do, ‘cept find what’s been killing ‘em. That’s what I got this fer.” Hagrid said, lifting the crossbow.

“Any idea what it is?”

Hagrid hesitated before shaking his head. “Not sure.” He lied. 

Tom pressed his face into one of the white necks, breathing in the wild scent of their magic. Hagrid knew what was going after the unicorns. With a sinking feeling, Tom realized he did too.

“I don’t know why they like me so much.” Tom murmured. “But they like you because you’re kind. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t befriend Hagrid.”

The giant man began to blush. “I just like takin’ care o’ creatures, is all. They respond ter a gentle hand. Haven’t had much luck with some o’ the nastier things, mind yeh, but I’ve tried.” He chuckled. “Don’t know if I’d want ter try with anything dark, though lots o’ creatures listed as dark by the Ministry are jus’ misunderstood.”

“Like hellhound?” Tom asked with a teasing smile.

Hagrid nodded. “Hellhound are jus’ big ol’ sweethearts. Yeah, they can have nasty bites, but once yeh get past that, they’re giant puppies! Take Fluffy, fer example. Play him some music and he’s sweet as can be.”

Tom’s smile went sly, though Hagrid didn't seem to notice.

“Fuffy’s actually pretty easy, all considered. Not nearly as tricky as some o’ the other critters I’ve worked with. Take manticores fer example. Now those can be right nasty if they want. Hard ter get on their good side.” Hagrid went on about more of his magical creatures, hands waving as he excitedly told Tom about all sorts of horrible beasties. Tom couldn’t help but smile watching him, something painful and nostalgic tightening in his chest. _When did you get old?_ He wondered. _When did everything fall apart?_

 _You look good with a beard,_ Tom thought, staring at this man who’d once been a boy, lost fifty years in the past. “You’re really something, aren’t you Rube?” 

Hagrid froze, his face going pale. He stared at Tom surrounded by a herd of unicorns as if he were looking at someone else entirely. Another boy, dark and quiet and secret, beloved by unicorns and the forest. 

Tom's smile grew brittle. His throat burned. 

He didn’t want to remember.

And so he didn’t.

* * *

* * *

Hagrid refused to talk to him, after the unicorns. Could barely even look at Tom. 

It didn’t matter. Tom had what he needed. He knew how to get past the Cerberus.

He pretended like the rejection didn’t hurt. Like it didn’t feel as if he was losing a friend all over again.

At least this time it wasn’t his fault.

~~Who was he kidding, it was always his fault.~~

* * *

November came to an end and December began in earnest. Tom put his and Harry’s names down to stay at Hogwarts over the break. Neither boy had any desire to return to the Dursley’s. Tom would be the only Slytherin left behind, but the Weasley’s would be staying at the castle as well, so at least Harry had his friends.

A week before the break began, Malfoy pulled Tom aside and invited him and Harry to attend a New Years party at his home.

“Mother is very interested in meeting you. She insisted I invite you, not that I wasn’t going to anyway. Most of our yearmates will be there too.”

Tom had been taken aback at first, but recovered quickly. “I’ll have to check with Harry first. I’m sure he’ll agree, but I don’t want to say yes for him. That just wouldn’t be polite.” Tom grimaced. “I don’t think we have anything appropriate to wear, though. And I doubt we’ll have the chance to go shopping.”

Malfoy pursed his lips. “You could borrow something from me, just this once. I’ll have mother take us all shopping over the summer hols so you can get some dress robes of your own.” He grimaced. “I’d have us go over winter break, but Father has a Ministry gala planned for Yule, and they’ll both be too busy for any outing.”

Tom felt… oddly touched by the generosity. Malfoy actually seemed to consider him a friend. Tom didn’t think he was particularly close to the boy. At least not close enough to deserve such an offer. Sure, they usually sat together when Slytherin wasn’t paired with the Gryffindors, and Malfoy often sought Tom out for essay help (he had a talent), but he didn’t think that was anything to deserve… this.

But, this was an opportunity Tom couldn’t pass up. This was a chance to meet people. Network. It would be a good introduction into the Pureblood world.

He just needed to convince Harry. Easier said than done.

Over the months, Harry had grown more accepting of Malfoy and the other Slytherins, but still didn’t particularly like them. He hadn’t immediately hit it off like with Ron and Hermione, didn’t have bonding through trauma via troll drowning. He barely interacted with the snakes outside of class, though at least those interactions were benevolent thanks to Tom.

But Harry was curious too, and he wanted Tom to have friends. Of course Harry thought that attending the party would be just the way to do that. As if Tom needed anyone but Harry (and maybe Hermione).

But if getting Tom more friends meant Harry was willing to get dressed up and rub elbows, Tom was willing to pretend.

Malfoy was ecstatic to hear the Potter boys agreed to attend his New Years celebration, and promised to write Tom all the details. He’d have to work something out with his parents and the school since Tom and Harry would be staying at Hogwarts for the break. Likely a Professor would walk them down to Hogsmead so the Malfoy’s could come by and appearate them to their manor the day of the party.

The blond wouldn’t stop chatting about plans and how much fun it would be and _“do you think Harry could bring his Nimbus so we can play a few matches?”_ the whole day. 

Finally classes let out for the holidays and most of the castle’s population left for their families, leaving Tom the sole resident of the dungeons. He decided the very first day to just move all his things up to Gryffindor Tower. Tom ended up spending most of his time in the tower with Ron and Harry, playing wizard chess and losing nearly as often as he won. Harry was pretty shit at the game, but Ron seemed ecstatic to have a worthy opponent. Tom had to admit he enjoyed the challenge as well.

He stuck back up to the third floor corridor the first night and discovered that, while singing didn’t put Fluffy to sleep like instrumental music did, it _did_ make the monster as mellow and tame as Fang. Sadly, the trap door beneath the Cerberus was warded to hell and back, and not something Tom could unravel without months or even years of research. There were _layers_ of spell work sealing the door closed. He didn’t even think consuming the spells would get rid of it all. Even then, some of the spells felt incredibly temperamental. Tom feared how they would react if he tampered with them.

He realized there was no way to break through and steal the Stone first. The best he could do was keep an eye on things, and hope he could do something to prevent anyone else from taking the damn thing.

On the bright side, Tom doubted even the Dark Lord would be able to break through the wards. He was almost positive Dumbledore had put them in place. Seems the man did not hold back.

The Stone was as safe as it ever was going to be. Tom had to be content with that.

He ended up distracting himself from the Stone by trekking out to the Forest nearly every day to visit the unicorn herd. He was relieved every time to see twelve white bodies canter up to greet him every time. No more deaths, at least not yet.

The unicorns followed around Tom as he wandered the Forest, acting as guide and protector. They showed him a thundering waterfall so old it had ripped a cavern into the earth, it’s waters disappearing deep into the earth. They brought him to open pastures covered in shining ice crystals, the sunlight lighting them up like a field of fire. He found towering white oaks, ancient and alive as the land itself, so old and magic rich they were nearly sentient.

When Tom was with the unicorns he did not fear the creatures of the forest. He saw centaurs and spiders the size of horses. Massive wolves with eyes too knowing, and great deer the size of a city bus. Olde gods walked these woods. Things etched in blood and sacrifice, long forgotten by human memory.

Tom found a village of hags who looked at him with hungry eyes but skirted far away, as if afraid. He saw fairies glow eerie blue in the fading light. Long limbed fae creeping through the dark out the courier of his eye, their antlers tangling with the birch trees. 

The Forest was beautiful and haunting, and Tom felt himself becoming lost to it. When he was here, he could forget.

When he was here, he could remember, and it did not hurt.

* * *

Christmas came and, for the first time in his life, Tom was given gifts. Ron’s mother had sent him a hand-knit sweater in green and silver, a large capital T on the chest. Harry had a matching one in red. She’d also sent homemade fudge, which tasted even better than what Tom bought in Diagon all those months ago. Ron had given him some chocolate frogs. Tom kept the candy and gave Ron the cards, much to the other boy’s delight. Apparently one was quite rare. 

Hermione had sent him a lovely silver fountain pen that matched her own bronze one. Tom hadn’t thought she’d noticed his envy. Evidently not. Tom, in turn, had gifted her some of his books on wizarding politics, knowing she’d find them incredibly interesting. He hoped next year he’d have the chance to actually go shopping for a proper gift.

Most of Tom’s housemates had sent him some sort of sweets, including Malfoy, though the blond had also included a letter saying his mother would be coming to Hogwarts at nine in the morning sharp the Thirty-First of December to pick up Tom and Harry.

Tom opened a small parcel of brown paper. Inside was a wood carving of a unicorn, and a piece of parchment saying _sorry for how I acted. You just reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. You’re always welcome to visit. -Hagrid._

Tom ignored the burning of his eyes and carefully set the carving down beside the rest of his gifts.

Lastly, there was a package addressed to both he and Harry, though left on his brother’s pile. Inside was a piece of shimmering fabric who’s magic curled and twisted like crude oil. It tasted old and unearthly with the faintest tang of blood. It made Tom want to hide. It made him never want to stop touching it. 

Ron called it an invisibility cloak. The letter said it was their father’s.

Tom found it terrifying and beautiful in equal measures.

Christmas dinner was extravagant and hectic and brilliant, and Harry smiled so much Tom couldn’t complain. Afterwards he got dragged into a snowball fight with the Weasley hoard. Tom managed to nail both twins squarely in the face several times, much to his delight. He got dunked in a snowbank in return.

Tom went to bed that night more content than he’d ever been before, Harry beside him. 

* * *

Tom woke with a start sometime later, the aftertaste of a nightmare behind his teeth. He was alone in Harry’s bed up in the Gryffindor Tower, the spot beside him cold and empty. Dread pooled in his stomach.

Tom slipped out of the bed silently, careful not to wake Ron. He crept out of the dorm and set out in search of Harry. Letting his feet and instincts guide him, Tom wandered the hallways toward where his magic told him Harry was.

He had to skirt around Snape and Filch, dunking into a secret hallway to avoid detection. From there, it was only a short ways to an unused classroom with Harry’s presence pulsing bright as the sun inside.

Tom slipped into the room to find his brother standing in front of a tall silver mirror, eyes wide. The mirror's magic flared out, haunting and corrosive. Sick burned at the back of Tom’s tongue, dread settling heavy in his gut.

“Harry?” He whispered, stepping closer.

Green eyes stayed locked on the mirror, shiny with tears. 

“ _Harry_?” Tom reached out, touching his brother on the shoulder, trying to drag him away. Harry jumped, fletching violently away from the contact. He blinked up at Tom as if coming out of a dream.

“It’s them, Tom. It’s our family.” He whispered in awe gesturing to the mirror. “Look. It’s Mum and Dad.”

Breath catching, Tom slowly turned to look into the glass, fearful, pleading. Tom did not see dead parents. He didn’t see immortality or power or even two orphan boys.

He saw a figure brilliant and savage with a smile like razor blades and unholy. Blinding white and blood soaked, wild and ancient as the Great Oaks of the forest. Gender less and ageless, eternal.

And there, beside the Living One with their glass-sharp smile and wide red eyes, was another. Sad and soft and inevitable. Veiled in the night sky with skin like stars and eyes endless and open like deep ocean. It was a melancholy song and halcyon days gone by. 

Tom looked into the mirror of desire and saw only Life and Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the life of me I could not write this week. My brain was just not working. I kept writing and rewriting and changing things. You have no idea how many different versions of this chapter I had. But here it is, finally!  
> So um. Originally year one was supposed to be 8 or 9 chapters total. Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. Oops. I’ve got like, 2 or three chapters of content left *at least*. I’m gonna have to up that chapter count, aren’t I?  
> Got a theme of white going this week. White unicorns, white oaks, white show, and that mysterious white figure in the Mirror of Erised. Wonder what that could be, hehehe.  
> Was hugely inspired by [Incantation of the Oak Priest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263648/chapters/55709014) this chapter. Seriously, such a good fic. It is Tom/Harry fyi, but it’s got such a cool idea. Time travel/alt universe au where Harry gets sent to a reality where Voldemort never existed with teenage Tom Riddle in tow. Also it gave me Tom + unicorns, something I never knew I needed. So yeah, the whole ‘unicorns love Tom’ thing came from Oak Priest. Thanks Relic_Crown for the permission to use ^_^  
> Also, yeah, Tom and Hagrid used to be friends. My reasoning is one) for the angst, but two) I doubt Hagrid was just going around telling everyone one about Aragog, and Tom had to know about the acromantula somehow. And yeah, sure he could have found out about it some other way, but I bring you back to point one. I just really like the idea of baby Hagrid excitedly showing Tom his deadly spider friend, much to Tom’s horror. Also how much more painful Tom framing Hagrid for Myrtle’s death is if they were friends.  
> Didn’t get to do much editing on this one, so I’m not sure how good it is. Please forgive any mistakes. I’ll go over it tomorrow, but for now I really need to get to bed.


	10. I am the Driver, I am the Shadow, I am the Hearse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a New Years party occurs, Harry and Tom discover new family, and Tom finds parts of himself he wishes he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for underaged drinking, disassociation, memory loss due to trauma, and gore/ a dead unicorn. Also some horror imagery with the creatures of the Forbidden Forest.
> 
> Title taken from the song Mr Rattlebones by Matt Maeson. The lyrics are about self destruction and being your own killer, which I found very fitting.

* * *

  


* * *

  
He couldn’t bring himself to go back to the mirror. What Tom had seen in the reflection, it had _scared_ him. He didn’t scare easily, but both those figures, whatever they were, they were not for the eyes of the living.

Harry went back the next night, bringing Ron with him. Tom had asked him not to, told him to forget the mirror. Something like that could only bring pain. But Harry was desperate for their parents. He longed for the love of a mother and father more than anything. The mirror was too great a temptation. 

Tom was worried for his brother. Ever since he found the mirror, there had been something strange in his eyes. A crazed sort of desperation. When he told Tom about the reflection, _“Mum and Dad and us, older and happy. We look so happy Tom. You really do look like her. Mum I mean. Her hair’s red, red life fire, but your faces and your smile. She’s beautiful Tom.”_

He wanted to say _I know, I know. I remember._ But he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Because Tom did remember, and Harry didn’t. Couldn’t he let his brother have this? This small thing? He deserved to remember. He, more than anyone, deserved a small taste of their parent’s love.

But the third night Harry sought out the abandoned classroom, he came back withdrawn and depressed. He said Dumbledore had been there, and told him the mirror would be moved, to not come looking for it again. Harry said the headmaster told him the mirror shows a person their greatest desire. He’d looked at Tom, eyes sad and weary, and asked what he had seen. Tom didn’t know how to answer.

He didn’t know what those creatures had been. What did it say about him, that he didn’t understand his greatest desire?

 _“I’m not sure.”_ He’d whispered and Tom knew his eyes had looked haunted. _“Something impossible, I think.”_

Harry had nightmares, after the mirror. Tom woke up more often than not to hold him while he cried, reminding him it was just a dream, that they were ok. When Harry told him about the green light and the horrible laughter Tom felt sick. It was only a dream.

Just a dream.

They were distracted by the mirror and it’s misery soon enough when New Years Eve dawned and Professor Snape escorted them down to the front gates with a sour face. Waiting for them was Draco Malfoy and a woman who could only be his mother. The adults greeted one another with a surprising amount of familiarity while Malfoy demanded to know how their holiday had gone, then started on about his own without giving either Potter a chance to answer. Tom didn’t much mind. He didn't really feel like sharing about the last week.

“Have either of you side-alonged before?” Asked Mrs Malfoy after Snape left.

Tom cocked his head to the side. “You mean like apparition?” At her nod he shook his head. “I’ve read about it, but I don’t think Harry or I have ever apparated before.”

“Apparated?” Asked Harry.

“Teleportation, basically. Something only adult wizards can do. Side-along is when someone apparates with a passenger, right?”

Mrs Malfoy smiles down at him, though there was something tense in the set of her lips. “Yes, exactly. Well, since neither of you have ever experienced apparition before, I think it’s best if we floo.” She glanced at Harry. “Fire travel. It’s much less disorienting than apparition. Best get down to Hogsmead then.”

The three boys followed behind Lady Malfoy through the snow, her son chatting about the gifts he got with Harry awkwardly interjecting every once in a while. Then Harry mentioned the set of quidditch gloves Oliver Wood had gifted him and suddenly the boys were on about quidditch gear and brooms and Tom found himself completely lost. He decided he was content to just listen to their voices while they walked.

Eventually the group arrived at Hogsmead and Lady Malfoy shepherded them into the Three Broomsticks for use of their fireplace.

“Grab a handful of powder, toss it into the fireplace, and say ‘the Leaky Cauldron’, then step though the flames. They aren’t hot and won’t hurt you.” She instructed.

“Wait, Leaky Cauldron?” Tom asked. “I thought we were going to your home.”

“We are. We just need to pick up a few things from Diagon Alley first.” Mrs Malfoy said with a smirk. Tom eyes the woman and her son wearily. They were both looking far too pleased with themselves. He didn’t like it.

“Draco dear, why don’t you go through first and show them how it’s done?”

The younger Malfoy gave her a wide smile and did as asked, stepping through the green flames like he’d done it hundreds of times before. He probably had, Tom realized. Stealing himself, Tom decided he would go next. He grabbed a handful of powder and, like Malfoy, tossed it into the fireplace, staring “The Leaky Cauldron” as clearly as he could. Before he could second guess himself, Tom stepped through the fireplace and out into the dingy pub. Mrs Malfoy and Harry followed behind not long after.

“Now, to _Twillfitt and Tattings_ .” Said Malfoy’s mother, leading them out of the pub. Tom hurried to keep up with her long strides. “ _Twillfitt and Tattings?”_ He asked.

The witch hummed. “Yes. Much better for dress robes than _Madame Milken’s._ ”

Her answer made Tom stumble. “Wait, dress robes? What are we doing here?” He asked, panic starting to rise in his chest. They couldn’t _afford_ dress robes.

“Getting you both something to wear for the party, of course.” She said like it was obvious.

Tom floundered for a moment, but Lady Malfoy’s strides didn't falter so he had to rush to keep up. “It was very kind of you to bring us here, but there was really no need.” He tried. “You shouldn’t have wasted your precious time on something as trivial as this, Lady Malfoy.”

“Oh nonsense. It’s no bother.” She said kindly, making Tom’s gut twist. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t have the money, he wouldn’t be able to pay her back. He couldn’t admit it, though. Couldn’t lose what little respect he had. He couldn’t, not again-

Mrs Malfoy slowed down, something strange twisting in her expression when she looked at his face. “It’s a gift, Mister Potter.” She said softly. “Let me buy you and your brother a Christmas gift, to make up for all the ones missed.”

There was something thick in Tom's throat he was having trouble swallowing. “ _Why?”_

“I am a Black by birth, as was your grandmother. We’re cousins, and, well, there aren’t many Blacks left now. Family is important.”

Tom bit his lip and nodded. That much, he could understand.

She pulled him into the robe shop, Harry and Draco chatting happily behind. Tom let himself get tossed around by the tailors as they fretted over what color and cut would fit him best. They kept trying to press him for more and more outlandish (and expensive) robes, but Tom shot them down quickly enough. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Mrs Malfoy buying them robes, but there was no way he was letting her spend more money than needed.

Besides, he didn’t want to be seen as one of those idiots who wore a ridiculous outfit just because it was expensive. He’d take practicality any day. 

Which is how he ended with robes with something like a muggle suit cut under the long outer piece made of soft steel grey fabric and metallic silver trim. It had swirling patterns along the sleeves and breast that reminded him a bit of snake scales.

Harry was bullied into a suit of charcoal grey with green accents to match his eyes. It looked fantastic on him, but Tom could tell his brother would rather have Gryffindor colors just to be contrary. 

Getting the dress robes took long enough that Mrs Malfoy insisted they get some lunch before going to Malfoy Manor. The group sat at an outdoor table of a little cafe surrounded by blooming flowers, even in the middle of winter. Tom thanked her politely for the food and the robes, while Harry stuttered through his gratitude far more clumsily. He seemed much more genuine for it.

Mrs Malfoy looked pleased either way. She spent lunch asking Tom and Harry about themselves, their interests and classes. She seemed genuinely interested in their lives. That or she was an incredible actor. By the end of lunch, she was insisting the both of them call her ‘Aunt Cissy’. 

Harry was painfully excited about having an aunt that treated them like family instead of a burden. Tom though, wasn’t sure what to think. Narcissa Malfoy was as Slytherin as they came. She had to have an ulterior motive. Nothing was surface level when it came to the snakes, especially those fully grown.

Tom just couldn’t understand _what_ it could be. Tom was certain the Malfoy’s had been in league with the Dark Lord during the war. Maybe she was trying to get in the good graces of the Boy-Who-Lived because everyone believed the Dark Lord dead? If Harry Potter called her aunt, well, _obviously_ she and her family hadn’t _really_ been Death Eaters. Get Harry on her side and the Malfoy name would be all but cleared. It made sense, and would honestly be something Tom would do in her place.

But there was the little issue that the Dark Lord _wasn’t_ dead. There was the chance Malfoy knew that, and this was a ploy. 

Or, more likely, when it became apparent that the Dark Lord was back (and Tom was under no illusions that wouldn’t happen. His luck was shit like that) she would betray them to save herself and her family.

But she’d said they were family too. How far did that loyalty go? How much was she willing to sacrifice for them, two boys she barely knew? _Not much_ , whispered his instinct. Narcissa Malfoy was not going to stick her neck out for them, not as things were.

Perhaps though, Tom could change that.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was a beautiful thing. Opulent and huge and incredibly cold. If a building could be lonely, this one was. It seemed less a home and more a showpiece. A pretty canvas for the painting of the ideal pureblood family. 

Tom had a sudden understanding as to why Draco Malfoy was the way he was. A single child, raised in a cold empty house. He was lonely and desperate for attention. Spoiled rotten, but forgotten all the same. No wonder he acted out. No wonder he picked fights. Anything to be noticed.

_Look at me, remember I exist!_

It was painfully familiar.

It was also something terribly easy to exploit. Tom let the little Malfoy drag him around on a tour of the manor, Harry trailing beside him. He feinted interest as Malfoy explained different portraits or family heirlooms on the way to his room. Tom asked questions and did his best to engage. Malfoy’s face brightened in delight, so he must have been doing something correct.

Malfoy’s bedroom was far more personalized than the rest of the home, though no less sharply decorated. It at least had quidditch posters and music records and different collectors items to denote it as a young boy’s bedroom.

Unlike Tom, Harry didn’t have to pretend to be interested in Draco Malfoy’s knick knacks. He was fascinated by the different games the boy owned. There was something that reminded Tom of a magic lego set that would move when completed that Harry became completely enraptured by.

Eventually Malfoy dragged them out to the back yard for some flying. Harry happily agreed to help Malfoy practice to try out for seeker next year. Tom absolutely refused to get on a broom again so he ended up spending the game shooting low powered stinging hexes at the two while they chased after the snitch. 

Harry had fretted about the trace at first, but then Malfoy explained that the trace only worked in non-magical areas. Tom wouldn’t get in trouble for using underage magic, though his mother might yell if Malfoy ended up with any welts.

Tom had just grinned at told him he should get better at dodging then. He got smacked with a broom for that, and the trio of boys ended up devolving in a three way duel that Tom soundly won.

He got bullied into teaching them how to duel, which mostly consisted of Tom throwing more stingers and having Harry and Malfoy dodge. The blond bitched about it until Tom said, “they can’t kill you if they can’t hit you. The three most important parts of dueling is aim, dodging, and not giving your opponent any tells. Showy spells or nasty curses don’t mean anything if they don’t connect. And you won't be able to cast at all of your opponent hits you first. Neither of you are ready for silent casting yet, but we can work on the first two.”

An hour later, Tom hadn’t been hit a single time. The other two were not so lucky.

“How are you so _fast_?” Panted Malfoy from where he lay on the snowy grass, a right red welt forming on his cheek.

Tom peaked down at him. “I wake up ungodly early in the morning and run.” 

Malfoy made a horrified face. “Why would you do that?” The pureblood boy sneered, though it was ruined by his heavy breathing and bright red face.

“I think Tom just proved why.” Harry panted from where he sat on the lawn. He was fairng a bit better than Malfoy because of quidditch practices. Seems Oliver Wood was good for some things. “Can you take me running with you?” He asked. “It’d probably help with quidditch.”

Malfoy perked up at that, making Tom inwardly groan. Harry was one thing, but he didn’t really like the idea of having more tag alongs. Running was good for endurance, yes, but that wasn’t the real reason why he did it. Over the last few weeks Tom found that a few laps around the grounds helped chase the nightmares away and clear his head.

Then again, Harry needed every advantage he could get, and competent duelers willing to protect him. Tom deflated. “Sure, why not. You can both come of you like. Just don’t whine at me when your ribs start to hurt.”

Harry, the monster, pulled him down into a hug which he dragged Malfoy into as well. The blond’s undignified yelp almost made it worth it.

They lay around just talking for a few more minutes, but eventually they needed to get ready for the party. Besides, the cold was starting to go from ‘pleasant’ to ‘uncomfortable’.

Tom healed the marks left by his hexes and the trio went back inside where they were met with Mrs Malfoy. She wrinkled her nose at their sweaty clothes and sent them off to bathe. She shooed her son off to his own room then led Harry and Tom to a guest suite to let them use the bathroom for a quick shower. 

They took turns washing the grass and sweat off, a quick cleaning charm fleshing up their clothes though not as well as a proper wash would have done. Tom helped Harry get dressed in his new robes before trying to do something with his bird’s nest of hair. Sadly, the hair refused to cooperate and Tom had to admit defeat and get himself dressed before the party began.

They left the guest suite pleasantly presentable, barring Harry’s demon hair. The little Malfoy met them in the hall dressed in light blue robes that brought out the color of his eyes and hair. He greeted them with a smile and let the two toward the manor’s ballroom.

The party had already started by the time they arrived, though it seemed most of the guests had yet to turn up. 

The party went about as well as could be expected. Most of the Slytherin first years were there, who Tom and Harry spent most of their time with. The young snakes were friendly enough, of not exactly sure how to treat Harry.

Harry, in turn, had absolutely no idea how to treat the Slytherins. He just ended up doing what he always did, be himself. As the night wore on, the other first years thawed toward Harry. They were dragged into all sorts of wizarding games which the pureblood children took great delight in explaining to the two. Tom had done a good job at masking how little he actually knew about the magical world, and so they were horrified to find out they’d grown up without any knowledge of it at all.

A few times during the night Tom got roped into introductions with different adults. He catalogued each name and face, doing his best to learn who was who. More importantly, he worked to identify all former Death Eaters and anyone else who might be a threat.

The ex-Death Eaters were the easiest to spot. They had a tendency to glare murder at Harry. Lucius Malfoy, at least, was competent enough a host to discreetly speak with each one and by the end of the night the glares had mostly vanished.

It didn’t make Tom any less nervous.

It was nearing midnight when Tom admitted to himself that his antsiness might be something else. There was something in the manor that prickled at the edge of his awareness. 

Tom’s curiosity got the better of him. He excused himself from the group of eleven and twelve year olds and let the subtle draw lead him from the ballroom. The feeling got stronger the further into the house he traveled. Eventually it led him to a lavish study furnished with ceiling tall bookcases and a massive oak desk in the center.

Tom zeroed in on the desk. That was where the pulling feeling was coming from. He examined the ornately carved drawers and found nothing odd about them. Then again, looks were often deceiving.

He brushed his fingers over the drawers, searching. The tips of his fingers went numb when he got to the bottom one. Whatever was inside made his joints ache. 

Tom’s heart pounded as he stared at the innocent little drawer. He could hear whispers at the edge of his hearing, words he could barely understand.

The empty hole in his chest burned. He was so empty. So hungry.

There was something here that could fill the wound in his being.

His hands shook as he reached out to pull open the drawer. Terror and hope choked him. Whatever was inside would heal him. It would destroy him.

“What are you doing, boy?”

Tom flinched back so suddenly he struck his hand against the desk. Pain bloomed against his knuckles, making him wince.

Lord Malfoy scowled down at him from the doorway. His lips were pulled back in a sneer, but there was something unnerved in his eyes. He looked nervous, but was doing his best to hide it.

Tom got to his feet slowly, eyes not leaving Malfoy. “What do you have hidden in the bottom drawer?” He asked softly.

Lord Malfoy paled. Something like terror blanched across his face before it was swiftly replaced by fury. “You are not supposed to be here.” He hissed. 

Tom found himself completely unafraid. Malfoy was just a pawn. A follower. He was weak powered and weak willed. Flighty and shallow and unfaithful, so unlike his father. What a waste.

Tom’s lips curled up in a crooked smile. “He wants out. You’ve kept him locked away for a very long time, haven’t you?” He whispered. “It’s lonely, in the dark.”

Abraxas stumbled back, somehow going even paler. He always did have a weak constitution. Couldn’t stomach the nastier things, no aptitude for torture. Funny, considering how much he liked to terrorize Slytherin’s pet mudblood. The man looked as if Tom had struck him, and hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. His fear was familiar. But when did Abraxas get so _old_?

Tom blinked, suddenly woozy. Had he forgotten to eat again? He glanced at Lord Malfoy, who was staring at him like a nightmare come to life. The man was gripping his cane like a lifeline, or like a weapon.

Ah, not good. Tom shook his head. “My apologies, sir. Seems I got a bit lost.” He mumbled, cautiously stepping around the man to make towards the door. He rushed out of the office, ignoring Lord Malfoy’s eyes on his back. Tom made his way back to the ballroom and tried to distract himself with the cheers as midnight struck. Confetti filled the air and outside a barrage of fireworks exploded making Tom flinch. He grabbed a passing flute of champagne and downed it in one go, the movement as familiar as the taste. He had half a mind to let himself get drunk just to smother the ache in his chest. Harry found him before he could succumb to the weakness, dragging him back toward the children. Tom went willingly, allowing himself to get swept about by the celebration and his brother’s soothing presence.

He couldn’t get rid of the cold in his gut, though. Tom cast his mind back, but no matter how much he tried to remember, he had no recollection of finding the library or what he was doing there. It was a blank spot in his memory, and it was terrifying.

He did his best to push it out of him and focus on Harry, but the unease stayed with him like a shadow.

Silent whispers clawed at the edge of his subconscious the rest of the night, wishing him a happy birthday.

* * *

Break ended and classes started again. Life went back to normal. Or at least as normal as life could be at a school for magic.

After the New Years Party the Slytherins had gone from accepting Harry to curry favor with Tom to actually seeking him out for company. Poor Harry was completely overwhelmed by his sudden popularity. Gryffindor had not prepared him for the underhand way the snakes went about making friends. Tom found himself in the position of translator and moderator more often than he’d care to admit.

Harry ended up forming genuine friendships with both Zabini and Bulstrode and more than tolerated the rest, even if he was still wary of Crabbe and Goyle. He ended up closest with Malfoy though, much to the blond’s delight. Maybe it was because the little Malfoy made the most effort (even trying to be friendly to Hermione and Ron, though it wasn’t always successful). Though maybe it was because they were cousins. Harry was obsessed with the idea of family, especially one that actually acts lovingly. Tom suspected Harry had firmly replaced the Dursley’s with Draco and Narcissa in his definition of Aunt and Cousin. Lucius had yet to earn the right of Uncle. Tom personally doubted he ever would.

Tom still wasn’t sure what had happened the night of the New Years Party. He wasn’t used to having blank spots in his memory and it frightened him. He would have thought that maybe the Malfoy patriarch had done something to him if the man hadn’t looked so terrified of Tom. Still, it was worth looking into.

And thus Tom made the horrifying discovery of legilimency. Wizards could _read minds_ . Even Tom’s _thoughts_ weren’t safe.

Thankfully, there was a defense. The practice of occlumency. During Tom’s studies he discovered that he not only already had pretty decent mental shields, but he was a natural legilimens. Not a powerful one, by any means. He couldn’t hear the thoughts of others without trying like some natural legilimens. But it explained his ability to read emotions and detect lies. 

But just because Tom’s mind was safe, didn’t mean Harry’s was. A slight poke at Harry’s defenses showed they were paper thin. And so Tom introduced him (and by extension Ron and Hermione) to occlumency. Hermoine took to it immediately, no surprise there. Harry and Ron had more trouble. Mostly because the boys were utter shit at meditation.

Thankfully legilimens were few and far between, and only natural legilimens could read minds without direct eye contact. As long as they avoided looking anyone directly in the eyes, they should be safe, or so Ron argued. Didn’t stop Tom from making them practice anyway.

While the others practiced building mental barriers, Tom developed his talent for tearing them down. He had to be careful not to push too far or be too obvious. Not only did he want to avoid accidentally breaking someone’s mind, but legilimency was technically _illegal_ without certain permits. 

Thankfully learning the mind arts was enough of a distraction to keep him from dwelling too long on either his bout of memory loss or the predicament with the Philosopher’s Stone. Neither of which he had any solutions for.

Tom made a habit of visiting the third floor and singling to Fluffy while trying to untangle the wards around the trap door. It was more him being stubborn than a viable plan though. The wards were still far beyond his ability. It at least gave him something to do when he couldn’t sleep.

Tom still went on his morning runs. He dragged an uncooperative Malfoy with him most times. He’d promised after all, something the blond was regretting more and more. Tom had to fight Oliver Wood for Harry’s time most mornings so he wasn’t always able to join the jogs. Between quidditch practice and running the grounds, Harry was waking up at five or six every morning. Ron was hilariously horrified when he found out. Boy slept so deeply he was entirely unaware that Harry woke so early. Or that Tom snuck into the Gryffindor dorms almost every night to cuddle his brother.

Gryffindor’s second quidditch game came and went without a hitch. There were no more attempts on Harry’s life and his brother won the game before it could really even begin.

Didn’t stop Tom from being a nervous wreck the whole time. 

Snape had refereed, which had only made it all the more apparent how much the man seemed to hate Harry. Try as he might, Tom’s interference didn’t seem to be doing much good on that front. Tom decided it was high time he uncovered the cause of the potion master’s animosity.

Snape, like all of Hogwarts’ professors, had office hours available to students. Unlike the other professors, no students were willing to brave the dragon’s lair and face the easily irritated potions master’s wrath. Not even the Slytherins. 

And yet, here Tom stood in front of the man’s office, stealing himself before knocking. He’d been putting off this conversation for long enough. If Tom wasn’t careful, he knew this could go very bad for him. If Snape was actually after the Stone (as much as Tom doubted it) one slip up could prove disastrous. But he needed to be sure of where the Professor’s loyalties lay.

He took a deep breath before rapping his knuckles sharply against the wood. Tom forced himself to relax. It wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of his head of house, especially with the conversation Tom was planning to have.

“Enter.” Snapped the voice from within.

Tom stepped inside Snape’s office, careful to keep his face blank. The man was sitting at his desk, grading essays with vivid red ink. The office was about what he expected of the man. Just as dark and gloomy as the potions classroom, it felt comfortingly like a cave. Shelves of books and ingredients lined the walls, with multiple cauldrons merrily bumbling away beside Snape’s oak desk.

“What do you want, Potter?” Hissed Snape, though there wasn’t as much heat in his voice as there might have been at the beginning of the year. Tom was proud to admit that he seemed to be one of the few students Snape tolerated, or at the very wasn’t constantly irritated by. Such a thing was very difficult to achieve with the potions master. Tom was saddened to think that he might very well lose that once he left the office. It would be worth it, if he did.

“I apologize sir. I thought you had office hours available right now. I can come back if you’re busy.” Tom said as sincerely as he was able. 

Snape seemed to buy it. He sighed and set his quill down. “We might as well get this over with now. Take a seat, Mister Potter.” He said, gestured toward the single chair beside Snape’s desk.

Tom nodded his thanks and took a seat, careful to keep his polite mask firmly in place.

“What is it you want? You’re at the top of your class, so I can’t imagine you want to speak with me about concern for your grades.” 

Tom ignored Snape’s biting tone. Instead he gave the Professor a pleasant smile, though he didn’t bother to disguise the sharpness in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Professor, I’m perfectly confident in my academic performance.”

“Then _why_ are you bothering me?” 

Tom looked into Snape’s dark eyes, judging. A tingle like cold water down his back forced Tom to break eye contact. His temple began to throb. “I want to know why you hate my brother.” Tom said simply, not letting discomfort show on his face.

He wasn’t exactly sure what Snape’s expression twisted into, but it wasn’t attractive. “Pardon me?” Hissed the dour man.

Tom blinked up at him innocently. “I’d be offended if you didn’t think I’d notice how you treat him. You signal Harry out, target him even over the other Gryffindors. You obviously have some sort of grudge. You have a similar one against me, but it’s tempered somewhat because of my house, and the fact you don’t find me as irritating.”

“That is no way to speak to a professor.” Snape said, eyes flashing.

“My apologies sir. I felt bluntness was warranted for this conversation. No need to beat around the bush, as they say.” Tom grinned sweetly. “At first, I assumed your dislike was because you were a Death Eater,” Tom smirked as Snape went pale. “Some old resentment left over from the war, perhaps.”

“How do you know that?” Snape hissed so low it nearly sounded like parseltongue.

Tom shrugged “Malfoy.”

The man’s expression went even more livid. Tom pushed forward anyway. “I doubt Dumbledore would let you teach if you were a threat to students. Either you switched sides, or he has you on a very tight lease. Maybe both. Besides, if it were really revenge you were after, you’d be trying to kill Harry, not save him.” Snape’s face twitched, just the slightest bit. Tom’s guess was right. “Who cursed Harry’s broom then, if not you?”

Snape sneered. “I don’t know, unfortunately. I might have been able to find out, if I hadn’t been set on _fire_ while casting the counter curse. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Tom shook his head. “I was mostly focused on making sure Harry didn’t die. I wasn’t really paying attention to what you were doing. Hermione mentioned after the game that she saw you cast a spell that made the broom stop going wild.”

Snape stared at him for a few tense seconds. Tom made sure to avoid direct eye contact this time. “I wasn’t able to finish the counter curse. I don’t know what caused the broom to stop, but it wasn’t me.” He said slowly.

Tom schooled his face into a look of surprise. “Then who stopped the broom?” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Snape drawled.

Tom studied the professor's expression. He genuinely didn’t know, and that irked him. 

“You never answered my question, sir. Why do you hate Harry?”

Snape sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t hate your brother, Mister Potter.”

Tom weighed the honesty of his words. _He’s telling the truth_ , he realized. “Then why do you treat Harry the way you do? You belittle him all the time. Call him attention seeking when he’s not. Rub in the fact that he’s a celebrity, when the only reason why he’s famous in the first place is because he survived while our parents _died._ ” 

The Professor’s expression soured further. “I don’t like any children, Mister Potter. Your brother is no exception. Don’t delude yourself.”

Oh, but Snape _did_ treat him differently. Harry and Tom both. The way the man acted, it seemed like a grudge years in the making, yet Tom and Harry had never met him before Hogwarts. There was no way they did anything to him before that, yet Snape seemed to dislike Harry from very first sight- _oh._ “The way you treat Harry, it’s like you’re seeing a totally different person…” Tom’s eyes lit up with a sudden realization. 

Snape startled. “ _What_?”

“It was our father, wasn’t it? Everyone says Harry looks just like him. You’re, what? Early thirties? You’d have gone to school with him.” A smile began to spread across Tom’s face. It wasn’t a very nice one. “What did James Potter do to you, I wonder, to make you hate him all these years later?”

Snape stood so suddenly his chair nearly tipped over behind him. “That is _enough_ .” He said, voice low and deadly. “Get out of my office. _Now._ ”

Tom contorted his smile into something pleasant and kind. “Of course Professor, I’m sorry for having disturbed you.” He stood and made to leave, but stopped just before the doorway. Tom turned back to Snape, angelic smile still in place. “Harry might look like our father, but he’s not.” He told him sweetly. “He’s his own person. I’d be grateful if you remember that, Professor. I don’t ever expect you to like him. Probably wouldn’t look good if you did, you have to keep up appearances after all. Especially if the Dark Lord comes back.”

Tom left before Snape could respond, pleased with how the conversation had gone. 

* * *

Snape avoided him after that. Potions classes went back to the way it was before Tom started distracting him from frightening Longbottom into blowing up his cauldron. It wasn’t that Tom didn’t _try._ Snape just ignored him at every turn, refusing to call on him in class or answer his questions. He returned to his habit of terrorizing the Gryffindors, though he oddly left Harry out of it. Like with Tom, Snape took to pretending like he didn’t exist.

As disruptive as the class had become, Tom had to say it was worth it. All his classes were painfully easy already so he wasn’t worried about his grades. Tom taught himself most of the material anyway. At least now Harry had some reprieve from Snape’s vicious tongue.

Ron’s birthday came and went to a small celebration in Gryffindor tower that Tom was dragged to against his will. Then things begin to pick up for exams. Tom was confident in his own ability to pass, but Hermoine was terrifying when she set her mind to it. The manic look in her eye made him go over his notes just to appease her. 

Harry, while not as academically inclined to the extreme of Hermione and Tom, was still a competent student and was near the top of the class. Ron, by sheer proximity, was doing far better than he ever thought he would. The Weasley twins teased him endlessly for it, but Ron said his mother was overjoyed. 

As much as the boy complained about homework and study days, he was just as driven to do well as the rest of them, even if it was just to prove that he could make something of himself. It was Hermoine who realized Ron was a kinesthetic learner. Once she realized that just explaining things only made Ron feel stupid, she took to trying a different approach. When the redhead struggled with a spell, Hermione would grab his wand hand and direct the movement for him. It usually took Ron a try or two after that to get the spell right. 

The boy would never be a perfect caster for the simple fact that he was using his brother’s old wand rather than one of his own. Bearing that in mind, Tom was surprised to find Ron Weasley was surprisingly competent. 

He still did abysmally on essays though.

Soon enough Easter Holidays started. For the life of him, Tom could not figure out why wizards would celebrate a Christian holiday. The Slytherins had very strong opinions about it, when he asked.

That was how Tom discovered the Ministry’s habit of catering to muggleborns to make them feel more ‘welcome’ in the magical world, and thus the root of much of the animosity. Blood supremacy was just a byproduct of the old families feeling like their traditions and culture were being threatened by the muggleborns. It was a valid fear. The old holidays had been Christianised and many ancient rituals and practices had been entirely outlawed. Vital parts of magic were being erased. 

What the purebloods didn’t seem to realize was it was the Ministry, not muggleborns, responsible for the loss of the old ways. All it would take to change things was a very carefully curated campaign and a little government takeover.

Oh, did he have _plans_ for the magical world. Sadly, there was only so much an eleven year old could do. He’d have to wait until after graduation to really get things moving. He couldn’t wait.

Midway through the Easter Break Tom was helping Ron and Harry with their transfiguration essay while Hermione was having a _heated_ debate with the little Malfoy about something or other when they happened to find Hagrid in the _library_ of all things. A bookworm, Hagrid was not.

Of course the man somehow found himself a dragon egg. 

Tom had to admit, Norbert was adorable, in his own deadly, fire breathing way. Hagrid was completely enamored. And entirely forgetful that his home was made of _wood_. Idiot, Tom thought fondly.

The real surprise was how much _Malfoy_ loved the dragon. The blond was nearly as begotten as Hagrid. Tom figured it might have something to do with being named Draco. 

Of course a growing dragon could not be kept on the grounds of a castle _full of school children_ . Not only would Hagrid get arrested for the illegal possession and hatching of a dragon and the creature itself likely killed, but there was the whole _fire breathing very large and dangerous animal living very close to a bunch of children_ issue. Not the best idea, that.

So the children managed to convince Hagrid to send little Norbert (who was no longer very little at all) off to Romania under the care of one Charlie Weasley. They were able to get the beast out and on his way without a hitch, but were caught by Filch shortly after. No good deed goes unpunished, or some rot like that.

And Dumbledore, the absolute _loon_ , thought an appropriate punishment would be to send the five of them into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid to hunt whatever was killing the unicorns. Tom had some serious questions about the man’s sanity.

First keeping a massive hellhound in a school, now this? What’s next, baiting Dark Lords with shiny rocks?

Wait-

_Shit._

* * *

The Forest was far more intimidating at night. It was almost sinister without soft bits of sunlight filtering through the leaves. Tom could feel eyes on him as he and the other first years trailed behind Hagrid along the old path in search of an injured unicorn. The silent watchers trailed behind them, hungry and waiting. The dark shadows made themselves scarce during the day, but here without sun to scare them off, they were far braver. If Hagrid wasn’t there, Tom was pretty certain whatever was watching them would be doing much more than just looking.

He could hear the creaking of ancient trees as the little group passed under the canopies. The birches stared at them with empty eyes, the oaks reaching out with thirsty roots. He caught glimpses of twisted figures out the corner of his eye. Creatures with too many arms and legs, long and lanky. Twisted joints and paper thin skin so black it absorbed light. Wide eyes that reflected the lanterns in unnatural ways. Noises that no living thing should be able to make. Eldritch beings stalked these woods.

Tom couldn’t help but like this new side to the Forest. The dark wood felt even more of home this way. He was unafraid, walking beneath the grasping branches. Tom felt as if he were the most frightening thing in the Forest that night. _Come and try. I’ll watch you scream._

The shadows stalked their footprints wearily.

He was the only one undeterred. Even Hagrid, large and strong and born of the forest as he was, stepped with caution. The other children were absolutely terrified. A branch cracked in the distance, making Hermione shriek. Something large moved just beyond the tree line. Tom caught a glimpse of twisted antlers and the upper half of a human torso, legs like a deer contorted backwards and dopey entrails catching on brambles.

The Old Ones sang to them as they passed. A soft humming just below human hearing in a language long forgotten to mankind. It vibrated in the ground beneath their feet and echoed through the tree roots. 

No one else in the group seemed to be able to hear the Song. No one else reacted to the singers, walking on like they weren’t being followed by creatures older than written word. So old the name of them had been lost long ago.

Eventually they got to the unicorns’ pasture but there were no friendly nickers to greet them. No floppy white ears in need of scratching. The only sign of the unicorns ever being there were drops of silver blood decorating the ground.

Tom felt nauseous just looking at it. Unicorns were not meant to bleed. It was unnatural to see it spilled on the dirt like that, shimmering and beautiful and _wrong_. Death was not something known to creatures ageless and eternal, and yet death is what this was. Staring at the blood on the leaves, Tom feared the only unicorn they would be finding tonight would be a corpse. 

“Right then, follow close. We’ll track ther blood. ‘Opefully it din’ make it too far out.” Hagrid told them softly. They set off deeper into the wood, following the silver trail. 

“What would be hunting a unicorn?” Whispered Hermione after a beat.

Hagrid hefted up his crossbow. “Nothing nice.” 

“A werewolf maybe? I heard they lived in the Forbidden Forest.” Malfoy guessed, his grip tight around Fang’s collar. The boar hound was a coward and wouldn’t be much protection, but it at least seemed to make the boy feel braver. Tom noticed how the dog kept glancing at him nervously, it’s hackles raised. He decided not to take it personally.

Tom found himself trailing behind as they continued deeper into the Forest. He slowed to match his steps to the heartbeat of the roots below his feet. The Old Ones whispered their secrets behind him. Words he could barely hear and never hope to understand. He glanced back to see only trees.

But when Tom faced forward again, he realized with a jolt he was alone. The others had disappeared. Even the lantern light had vanished.

The Forest Song grew louder as he stood alone in the middle of the path. Shivers ran up his spine and animal fear began creeping into his veins. The instinctual reaction to being hunted.

Treebark hands pushed branches out of the way as tall figures enclosed around him. Tom’s hair stood on end as they got closer. He stood frozen, stared back at the glowing eyes, their gazes curious and _wanting_.

Something made of black vines and burning like a lightning strike stepped forward. It stooped low, its crown of wooden horns brushing the tree canopy above as it went. Wide jaws opened to a furnace mouth, the coals inside blazing with the creature’s incomprehensible speech.

Tom took a nervous step back. The Old One looked at him like it wanted to swallow him whole. Magic flared around his fingertips in warning, making the burning wood step back. It’s head tilted curiosity to the side before it let out a haunting elk cry. The glowing eyes around him winked out one by one, leaving only the great burning one standing at the edge of the path. It started at Tom for a heartbeat more before it too turned and melted back into the Forest. 

The boy let out a choked sob and sank to his knees, his legs shaking too badly to hold him up. His heart beat rabbit quick in his chest. It pounded so fast he felt like it might break through his ribs. Tears burned his eyes, but he didn’t remember when he started crying. 

He needed to get away from this place.

Tom stumbled to his feet and began running, unsure of where he was going, only sure that it was _away._ He followed the path until it suddenly vanished in thick underbrush. He must have accidentally branched off onto a game trail, he realized in horror. Tom circled back around but couldn’t find the path again. There were only trees, patient and waiting for new bones to eat.

Tom leaned against a trunk and closed his eyes. Panic would do him no good. The Old Ones had left him be, and they were the most dangerous things in the wood. Everything else was harmless by comparison. He’d be fine, he just needed to find the others and get out of the Forest. He was _fine._

Tom forced his breathing to slow, _in, out, in, out, don’t panic. Find Harry,_ he told himself, _just find Harry._

He reached out, searching for his brother, his other half. Grasping for the connection that tied them together. Tom gasped a sigh of relief as he felt the familiar presence burning only a short distance away. He held tight to the burning in his chest, terrified to let it slip away.

Tom opened his eyes and followed the pull. 

It led him deeper into the Forest. The trees around him grew even more massive as he walked further in. Here was the old growth. The oaks and elm and yew so ancient they’d been seedlings before Britain was an island. The trees greeted him with the song of their roots as he passed by. Whispered _hello_ and _welcome home_ and _it’s been so long_. The trembling of his hands stopped when Tom pressed his fingers against the rough bark. He murmured greetings in return. He’d have to come back and visit when the sun was out.

For now he needed to find his brother.

Tom hummed along with the trees’ song as he followed after the pull of magic. The sound was comforting. It made him feel brave.

He was nearly to Harry when the song twisted in bitter horror. The trees cried out in sorrow in tandem with the death cry of a unicorn. Tom’s insides turned to ice.

The echoing cry had come from the same direction as Harry.

Without thinking, Tom broke into a frantic run. He stumbled over roots and rocks as he tried to get to his brother. _Danger_ , warned his hindbrain. _Danger ahead,_ his instincts screamed.

He ran forward anyway.

The smell of blood was the first thing he noticed. Sharp and pungent in the air. Unicorn blood was acidic. The smell of it burned.

Then there were the great pools of silver nearly glowing in the moonlight. It matted the once pure white fur of the unicorn around the gaping wound on its side. Steaming intestines spilled out of its split belly, white ribs and silver muscle gleaming beneath the gore. The unicorn’s eyes were glassy in death.

Sick burned Tom’s throat and he doubled over to vomit on the ground. There was something unnatural about a dead unicorn.

Wiping his mouth, Tom looked back at the corpse. He recognized her. This was one of his herd. The sweet little one who led him lean against her side and nap in the afternoons. She had a fascination with his hair, always nuzzling it and pulling on the strands with her teeth. She preferred peaches over apples and would suck on the pits to get as much sweetness out of it as she could.

And now she was dead, her entrails pulled out like the stuffing of a toy. 

An emotion clogged Tom’s throat and made him feel as if he were suffocating. He was surprised to realize it was grief.

He stood frozen, staring at the cooling corpse as despair made his eyes burn. And then he was no longer alone.

A sound like belly scales on leaves and a death rattle broke the silence of Tom’s mourning. With it arrived a black shadow. It glided on the ground like mist, tendrils like wings fanning out behind it. It moved like water, but it was shaped like a man. The black shape stalked over the unicorn, movements like a predator. It stopped low and began gorging itself on silver blood.

Tom felt like he was burning.

He gasped, pain lighting up his nerves. The festering wound in his chest was an aching empty mess. His soul _wailed_. Tom stepped back, stumbled, fell. 

The shadow looked up from its meal, the hood of its cloak over it everything but the stain of silver dripping down its throat. Whispers burned below Tom’s skull, truths he did not want to hear.

 _“Please.”_ He whispered. He didn’t know what he was begging for. 

The monster didn’t move. Just stood there dripping silver blood from its jaws. Tom started back, his insides carved out and strewn over the leaves just like the unicorn. His chest felt like a cavern, his belly an empty pocket below the skin and fat. The shadow had gutted him with just its presence. It’s existence was enough to lay him low and made him taste death behind his teeth.

_-is my past, present, and future._

Tom stared at the reflection of himself, and wanted to destroy it, wanted to _consume it_ . He was an empty grave in need of a body. _A soul is not a thing meant to be split. It wants to be whole._

Voldemort stared at him, christened in cursed silver blood. _You did this to me_ , Tom thought. _You are the reason why I ache._

He could do nothing but watch the shadow of himself standing over the corpse of a unicorn. Could do nothing as the centaurs arrived, Hagrid and his crossbow behind them. Tom stood frozen and watching as the monster he’d been ~~what he feared he would become~~ fled into the night. He hated himself for wishing it would come back. _I want to be whole again_.

Harry was there, holding him. Trying to get him to react. Panicked and worried. “That was Voldemort, wasn’t it?” His brother asked the night air. Hagrid nodded.

Tom could feel the children’s terror. Ron distraught and face so bloodless his freckles stood out on his skin like fresh gore. Hermione shaking and muttering nonsense. Malfoy pale and wideyed in understanding. The boy grabbed hold of Tom, begging him to be okay. “It’s alright, it’s alright. He’s gone. You’ll be okay. You’ll b-be okay.” He held tight to Tom and Harry both, and Tom realized with a shock Draco was scared for _their sakes_.

When had the boy started to care?

The centaurs stared at Tom with knowing eyes. They spoke of stars and signs and second chances. Tom didn’t want to hear it. He wasn’t ready to face what he was. _Let me be ignorant for a while longer._

_Please._

He made himself forget everything but drops of silver blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired by the movies the Hallow and The Ritual for the vibe of the Old Ones, if not what they look like. They’re basically ancient deities, neither good nor evil. They simply are. They’re also creepy as hell. The Burning One in particular was based on when a tree gets struck by lightening and catches on fire from the inside out.  
> I’ve been working on some artwork for this fic, though I’ve only finished one. It’s a sketch of Tom and the unicorns I added to the last chapter after posting it. I’m going to try and put some art at the end off all my chapters, just not sure when it’ll happen. So keep your eyes peeled for that :3  
> Poor Tom, I keep giving him memory loss. If it wasn’t clear, he was being possessed/influenced by the Diary during the New Years party nod doesn’t actually remember anything except for suddenly finding himself in Lucius’ study. With the encounter with Voldemort in the Forest, Tom actually made himself forget. He’ll remember seeing the wraith and the dead unicorn, but he forced himself to forget the realization that he is in some way Voldemort. He isn’t ready to come to terms with that fact, though he isn’t always going to be able to ignore it either.  
> Probably have one more chapter covering first year, then we’ll be going on to Chamber of Secrets. I’m so excited!  
> Happy Valentines Day guys. Hope y’all get lots and lots of chocolate. Sadly, I must now get ready for work, even though I work outside and it’s pouring rain. Rip.


	11. Oh, the Reckoning Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you  
> (You can run but you can't escape)  
> Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins  
> (You will open the yawning grave)  
> -Lord Huron “The Yawning Grave”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for disordered eating, minor self harm, blood/gore, minor character death, disassociation, and light gaslighting (see end note for more)

* * *

  


* * *

  
“That was Voldemort, wasn’t it?” Harry whispered, body still shaking even though they were back within the warmth of Hogwarts.

“I’m afraid so.” Said a voice behind them, making Tom spin around to face it. 

Dumbledore walked steadily toward the five children, McGonagall and Snape just behind him. His expression was unreadable, but there was something dark there that made Tom flinch away.

“You knew.” Tom croaked. “Or at least you suspected. That he was still out there. That he was  _ here.” _

Dumbledore looked at him, blue eyes missing their damn twinkle. Tom found himself unnerved without it. “I did.” Dumbledore admitted at last.

Tom noticed out of the corner of his eye how pale the others had gone, Ron and Draco especially. The little Malfoy looked about ready to keel over at any moment.

“You have all experienced quite the shock.” Dumbledore said. “You may go to Madam Pomfrey for a calming draught, if you feel you need one. But I think it best if you all head to bed now.”

Tom licked his chapped lips, shifting closer to Harry. He didn’t want to be apart. Not right now. Something changed in Dumbledore’s expression. It softened, just the slightest bit. “Severus, would you take mister Malfoy down to the dungeons? Minerva, bring the others up to Gryffindor Tower. We can sort the rest of this out in the morning, I’m sure.”

Snape looked like he was going to argue, but a glance at Tom and he closed his mouth again. He simply gave a nod and pulled Draco away to the Slytherin dorms.

Tom stared at the corner of the headmaster’s mouth, quirked up in a small smile. “You knew about that too.” It wasn’t really a question. Of course Dumbledore knew he’d been sneaking into Gryffindor Tower. He’d been an idiot to think no one would find out.

“You’ll find, mister Potter, that there is very little in this school I don’t know about.” 

Tom’s insides twisted. 

“Off to bed now.” Dumbeldore said, shooing them away. McGonagall beckoned them forward and the Gryffindors followed with one last hesitant look at Dumbledore, Tom trailing behind. He felt the Headmaster’s eyes on his back as they made their way toward the staircases. The walk up was silent. Not even McGonagall spoke, though she kept casting the four first years concerned glances.

Finally they made it up to the Gryffindor common room. McGonagall left them with a soft farewell, leaving Tom alone between a trio of lions. No one seemed ready to try and sleep just yet.

“What happened Tom? That thing, Voldemort, did he hurt you?” Harry asked, hands running up and down Tom’s arms.

Tom stared over Harry’s shoulder, his mind still foggy and thoughts reeling. He didn’t remember much of what happened past silver blood and a dark shadow. He was afraid, he remembered that much. Afraid… and longing. The aftertaste of it still filled his mouth like bitter wine. He couldn’t swallow it away no matter how much he tried.

He breathed in, shaky, vision coming back into focus. “No. I’m… I’m fine. It didn’t hurt me.” Tom pulled away from Harry’s grasp. He began gnawing on his thumbnail without thinking. “I got separated, turned around.” He murmured past the finger. “There was this horrible sound. I think it was the unicorn dying. Found her body there on the ground.” He tasted iron in his mouth. “Then that… wraith appeared. Started drinking her blood. It noticed me, but it just… stared. I know it knew I was there, but it didn’t do anything. Then the centaurs came and scared it off.”

They were staring at him, their gazes heavy and concerned. Like soaking wet clothes, weighing him down. Crushing and clingy, pulling him down deeper to drown. Tom bit down harder on his thumb, blood seeping between his molars. He didn't want them looking at him anymore. 

“I’m glad you’re alright.” Harry said at last. 

Hermione huffed beside him, her face still pale and drawn. “We were so scared.” She said, throwing her arms around Tom, pulling him into a tight hug. He tensed against the contact. His skin burned against hers, brain lighting up with  _ too much too much _ . He stood frozen against her, nerves overexposed, aching and firebright.  _ Stop touching me, please. _ He felt like a cracked tooth. An open wound. Turned inside out and overstimulated.

Hermione pulled back hesitantly when Tom made no move to return the hug. Apology on her face. 

“He’s after the Stone, isn’t he? You-Know-Who?” It was Ron who asked it. The others turned to look at the red head, somber, resigned. They knew it too.

“Yes.” Tom said. His gaze was still distant, unseeing. “It’s a trap. It’s bait. Dumbledore wants to draw him out. The Dark Lord is  _ here _ , not a servant. Not a pawn. It’s actually  _ him _ .” He dropped his bloody nail from his lips. There was copper on his tongue. “The trap door is warded to hell. I doubt even the Dark Lord himself could get through without a lot of effort, but Dumbledore’s planning something. This is all coming to a head, and soon.” His eyes sharpened, focusing on Harry. “I have a feeling we’re all going to get caught in the middle of it.”

* * *

The next morning the children went out to help Hagrid bury the unicorn before breakfast. Even Draco went to pay his respects. 

The ground was still cold, even in April. The hard compact earth proved difficult for a normal man to dig up, but Hagrid was far from normal. It took little effort for him to make a grave large enough for the unicorn. It likely would have gone quicker if he weren’t sniffing the whole time, though.

Tom tried to help, but he was just a skinny little eleven year old boy. Not much his twig arms could do. He did manage to aid in shoveling the soil back on top of the body once Hagrid had gently laid her down into the grave, as did the other children. 

Tom watched as the dirt swallowed up the brilliant white fur, forever stained with gore. No flies buzzed around the corpse. Even they refused to sully their mouths with unicorn blood. No bacteria would feed on the body. She would forever lay entombed in the earth, never rotting, never changing, but forever dead. 

Those glassy eyes stared at Tom as clumps of soiled filled around her face. They were sightless and empty, but Tom couldn’t help but see accusation.

Watching as the still body was swallowed up by the earth, he couldn’t shake the feeling this was all his fault.

The herd came by after, once the grave was filled and the other children had left. Harry had hesitated, staying behind until Tom told him to go on up for some breakfast. He wanted to be alone. 

Harry nodded and left for the castle, leaving only Tom atop the burial mound. Staring at the disturbed soil, he felt as if he and Harry were drifting apart with every passing day. There was once a time when he would have wanted his brother beside him here. Would have hated the idea of being alone. What happened to confiding everything in Harry? Of telling him every secret, ever thought? 

Tom was keeping secrets, from Harry and from himself. He could see the blank holes in his memory, the dark spots from the night before. Thoughts and realizations he refused to dwell on. There were parts of himself that terrified him. Things he wanted to stay buried deep inside forever. 

Why did things have to be so complicated? When did all this go wrong?

Tom didn’t have any answers. He thought maybe he never did.

The unicorns stood around him in quiet mourning. Hagrid had said there were once eighteen unicorns in the herd. Now there were eleven. They stood around the grave at the mouth of the Forest, heads bowed and softly keening. Tom wished he could cry with them.

Instead he felt a hollowness. If he looked deeper, past the well of empty numbness, he could find anger. The unicorns were  _ his _ . Part of his herd, under his protection. And they had been  _ taken _ . Tom did not take well to his belongings being stolen, being destroyed.

His fingers curled in a thick mane beside him, grasping and possessive. “I won’t let him take any more of you.” He promised.

His magic sloughed out, thick and pungent. It threaded protectively over his herd. Whispering  _ you are mine. No one else can have you. _ Old magic made stronger by the blood of the Forest. Guarding and jealous.  _ Just try and take them,  _ it sang,  _ I’d like to see you try _ , it laughed.  _ I will  _ **_break_ ** _ you if you try. _

The unicorns knickered nervously. Their eyes flashed white as they rolled back. Tom smiled and cooed, magic twisting around them like a nesting cobra. Their nostrils flared.

The protective magic sealed over them. A promise. A curse.

_ No one takes what belongs to me. _

A crack like lightning and the herd bolted back into the woods, Tom’s magic forever clinging to white pelt. Nothing would ever touch them again. Not if they didn’t want to be unmade.

Tom smiled, sharp and predatory. He never did like sharing.

The herd would be safe. He’d let Dumbledore take care of the Dark Lord. This was the old man’s game, not his. Let him fix his own mess. The Stone was safe and Dumbledore obviously had a plan. Tom would only step in if he or Harry were in danger (or Hermione or even Ron and Draco). He wondered when those three had become  _ his _ . 

Taking one last look at a grave that would never rot, Tom set off for the castle once more. He still had classes after all. He’d been out there too long, there wasn’t time left for breakfast. It wasn’t the first time Tom had gone hungry. It likely wouldn’t be the last either. Being late though, was unacceptable.

Charms went by in a blurr. Herbology was much the same. A blink later and Tom was sitting at the Slytherin table at lunch, Draco frantically whispering to the other first years around them. He didn’t care enough to pay attention to what was being said around him. 

Staring down at his full plate, he couldn’t bring himself to eat even though he’d already skipped one meal. Just looking at the food made him nauseous. Tom shoved the plate away and decided to just deal with the empty stomach. The cramps would be a familiar comfort.

Snape came by when lunch was nearly over. He stopped behind Tom, the man’s dark eyes making the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Tom twisted around to face his head of house. Something about his blank expression made unease flicker over Snape’s face. Tom couldn’t find the energy to feel proud.

“The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office once you are finished with lunch.” Snape’s eyes flickered to Tom’s untouched plate. “I can take you know, if you want.”

Tom nodded once, ignoring the curious eyes of his housemates on him. “This is about last night, I take it?” 

Snape’s lips went thin. “Let’s not dawdle.” Was all he said before sweeping away. Tom followed behind at a more sedate pace.

“Dumbledore doesn’t want to speak with the others?” Tom asked once they left the great hall.

“ _ Professor  _ Dumbledore has already spoken to Hagrid and one of the centaurs. The only other testimony he needs is your own. The other children only caught a glimpse of… the wraith.” Tom couldn’t help but notice the hesitation when giving a name to the creature. He wondered what Snape had wanted to say. “You, on the other hand, always seem to be at the center of these messes.” He continued with a sneer.

Tom gave a bitter laugh, making Snape turn his head to glare at him. “I don’t particularly  _ like  _ finding myself in deadly situations, sir. I  _ do  _ have some sense of self preservation, I’m not a bloody Gryffindor.” 

That got the slightest smirk out of the dour potions master, before he smothered it under his scowl. “Be that as it may, you and your brother both seem to be in the unfortunate habit of finding trouble. It is getting tiresome.”

Tom snorted. “Understatement.” He muttered under his breath.

Snape came to a sudden stop in front of a stone gargoyle before either could say anything else. “Blood pops.” The man told the stone statue, making Tom raise a brow. He flinched back when the gargoyle suddenly moved to the side, revealing an opening in the wall and a moving staircase behind it.

Snape led him up the staircase and into what could only be the Headmaster’s office. It was gaudily decorated and covered in shiny spinning contraptions. It all just  _ screamed  _ Dumbledore’s eccentricity. The man himself was sitting behind a large wood desk, hands folded together in front of him. To his side was a large perch with a brilliant red bird roosting on top.

Tom only had eyes for the massive sootstained bird. A phoenix, he realized with shock. It’s glowing ember eyes stared back, unfathomable and knowing. There was something painfully familiar about the phoenix. It’s magic burned almost like his own. Uncontrollable and consuming. 

Some strange emotion welled up inside Tom, looking at the bird. Something he had no name for.

“His name is Fawks.” Dumbledore said softly, pulling Tom out of the daze he’d been in. He glanced over uneasily toward the headmaster. Dumbledore just smiled kindly and gestured for Tom to take a seat across from him. He pulled the chair out and sat cautiously, hiding a grimace at how uncomfortable the offered seat was. Tom suspected it was done on purpose.

“Lemon drop?” 

Tom shook his head, not trusting anything the old man tried to give him. Dumbledore looked mildly disappointed. “No one ever wants the lemon drops.” He said, nearly  _ pouting. _

“More for you, I suppose.” Tom said blandly.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Ah, that is true.” He said, popping one of the yellow candies into his mouth.

Tom anxiously cracked a knuckle, gaze staying firmly on Dumbledore’s beard. Snape had abandoned him to the headmaster’s mercy shortly after delivering him so now he was alone with a man he didn’t trust as far as he could throw him. (without magic, that was) “What is it you wanted to speak with me about, headmaster?” Tom asked at last, quickly running out of joints to pop.

“I was hoping you could tell me a bit about last night.” He said gently. Fawks clacked his beak sharply to the side, making Tom jump.

“We went out into the Forest with Hagrid, as our detention instructed.” Tom glared at Dumbledore’s nose. He was almost tempted to make eye contact just to the old man could see how monumentally  _ stupid  _ he thought that idea had been.  _ Almost _ . “I got separated from the others.”

Dumbledore’s brow rose. “How did that come about? Hagrid had clear instructions to keep you all together.” 

Tom swallowed. “I heard… singing. I stopped to listen, and when I looked back, the others were gone.”

“Singing?” Dumbledore’s head tilted to one side. Curious, like a bird.

“The Forest was singing. It always has been. But last night it was… louder.” Tom hesitated. “The Old Ones found me on the path.”

Dumbledore went pale. Beside them Fawks trilled sharply. “The Old Ones? You mean the Forest gods?”

Tom nodded, jerky. “Most of them stayed beyond the tree line, but the Burning One… it stepped onto the path. It looked… so hungry… like it wanted to  _ consume _ me. I thought I was going to die.” He whispered hoarsely. “But then it just… left. I ran, after that. Then I found the unicorn. It was already dead when I got there.”

“And Voldemort?”

Tom flinched at the name. “He showed up after. Gliding over the leaves like a spirit. It-  _ he  _ started drinking the unicorn’s blood. I don’t-” Tom grimaced. “Everything after that is a blur. I don’t really remember what happened. Just that he saw me. I… fell?” He half asked, not quite trusting his own memory. “He looked up, saw me. Then just… stood there, staring. The centaurs showed up after that, and he fled.”

Dumbledore stared at him with those burning eyes. Finally, “what did you feel, when you saw him?” he asked, voice soft.

Tom struggled for the words. “I’m not sure. Afraid, I think.” What answer did Dumbledore expect to hear? What was his aim? “I remember feeling cold. Empty.”

The headmaster seemed to know Tom’s answer was only a half truth, but didn’t press it. “Thank you for your time, mister Potter. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to recount what happened last night.”

Tom saw the dismissal for what it was but remained seated. He chewed on his lip for a moment before forcing himself to ask. “Headmaster, I was hoping… well I was wondering if there was any way… could Harry and I stay here over the summer? At Hogwarts?”

Dumbledore’s expression fell. Tom knew before he even said anything that the headmaster would refuse him. “I’m afraid not. Students are not allowed to stay here over the summer break, no exceptions. Besides, you should be with your family.”

Tom stared down at his fists clenching in his lap. “Not much of a family.” He muttered. Fawks made a sad sound past his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if it’s not ideal, but the Dursley’s are the safest place for you and your brother.”

Bitterness coiled in Tom’s chest. “ _ Safe _ .” He muttered, dark eyes peering up at Dumbledore through his bangs. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe there a moment in my life.”

The old man looked resigned, but unsurprised. “When your mother died protecting you and Harry, powerful blood wards were cast over the two of you. Wards that only exist if you live with Lily Potter’s blood relation, her sister. I promise you, that house is the safest place for you outside of Hogwarts.” 

He knew, Tom realized. Dumbledore  _ knew _ , and he didn’t care.  _ Their letter had said Cupboard Under the Stairs,  _ Tom remembered. Something cold settled inside him. Dumbledore had sent them to the Dursleys. It was because of him that they grew up sleeping inside a cupboard. Every bruise, every broken bone, every night spent with a stomach aching from hunger, was because Dumbledore allowed it.

For their own  _ protection. _

_ It’s for your own good _ , said the Father as they held him down and stuffed rosemary and hawthorn under his skin. 

_ It’s for your own good _ , said the Matron as the men in white clothes dragged him away screaming  _ I’m not mad, I’m not mad _ . 

_ It’s for your own good _ , said the Uncle as the belt struck against his back, sharp metal splitting open the skin between his shoulder blades.  _ Beat the unnaturalness out of you, you’ll be better for it. _

_ It’s for your own good. _

Tom swallowed back bile, his fingers trembling between his thighs. He could feel the memory of sticky beads of blood running down his spine, thick straps binding his arms in front of him. 

He’d done this once before, hadn’t he? A lifetime ago, a time Tom didn’t let himself remember.  _ Please sir, let me stay over the summer. It isn’t safe in London.  _ He heard the echo of bombs and breaking timber,  _ he sent me back during a war. _ Tom didn’t know why he’d expected anything different.

“It’s for your own good.” Dumbledore said, just as Tom knew he would. 

-

Exams began days later, making avoiding Dumbledore easy. Not that the man was exactly seeking him out, but even just looking at the headmaster filled Tom with a sick mix of rage and despair. It was bad enough that he even refused to look toward the head table during mealtimes. Tom didn’t know it was possible to hate someone as much as he hated Dumbledore.

He didn’t think he was more afraid of any other person either, maybe not even the Dark Lord. Dumbledore was terrifying in his kindness, his image of a paragon of Light. At least the Dark Lord never pretended to be anything different than what he was.

But Dumbledore, he was willing to sacrifice children for his idea of the greater good, Tom realized. He was just as monstrous, but dressed in kind smiles and a helpful veneer. He had everyone so perfectly fooled.

It made Tom almost envious, if it didn’t make everything so much more complicated. Dumbledore would never let them leave the Dursley’s, he realized. The only way he and Harry were escaping Privet Drive was if their Relatives were dead. But even then, Tom was certain Dumbledore would decide for them where they would go. There was no guarantee it would be any better than Number Four.

At least with the Relatives, Tom knew how to survive. Knew he  _ could  _ survive. The Dursley’s were their only option. Anything else was too risky. 

Tom resigned himself to having to go back to the Relatives in three weeks time. It was just for the summer. Just a few weeks. They could make it through that. They had to.

End of year exams did little to distract Tom from his growing dread. They were painfully easy and blew by in an eye-blink. Not even knowing he had aced every one was a comfort against the itch beneath his skin.

Less than a month at Hogwarts. Less than a month for the Dark Lord to make his move.  _ Something _ was coming to a head, Tom could feel it in his bones. His anxiety climbed as the days went by. He found himself missing sleep, and eating even less. He’d never been good at eating regular meals, stomach small and sensitive from years of malnutrition. But ever since the first week or so at the school he’d at least managed to get  _ something  _ down, careful to stock up on as many calories as he could before returning to Privet Drive.

He couldn’t manage it, not with everything looming over his head. Tom found himself leaching magic from the air around him just to make it through the day. He spent his nights wandering the castle hallways, circling around the third floor like a vulture over carrion. He told himself he was going to leave the Stone be, promised Hermione he wouldn’t try to steal it.

He couldn’t seem to shake the desire for it anyway.

Tom took to fleeing into the Forest instead. Away from the Stone and its temptations. The unicorns were still skittish but welcomed him back gladly. The protective charm flared over them whenever he got close. He could feel it pulsing over them in the tingle of his fingertips. The herd wandered with him deep through the Old growth, the trees’ song rich around them.

Tom saw no sign of the dark wraith. No more unicorns died. He was grateful he didn’t have to help Hagrid dig another grave.

The exams ended as soon as they began, leaving Tom with too much time and too many thoughts in his head. 

Herbology was the last of them. Easy as breathing, Tom had no doubt he’d gotten top marks on both the test and the practical. Stepping out of the greenhouse, Tom made his way toward the black lake, Draco chatting on his heels.

He spotted Harry waving at him from the shore of the lake, a head of bright copper hair beside him that could only be Ron. To his other side was a figure Tom assumed to be Hermione. 

The two Slytherins approached and sat down beside the group of lions in the grass. Tom took a spot next to Harry, his shoulder brushing against his brother’s leg dangling off the rock he was perched on.

“How’d your last exam go?” He asked. Harry made a face, causing Tom to laugh. “That bad then?”

“I never want to answer another question about self stirring cauldrons. Binns is a  _ hack. _ ”

Tom chuckled, the warm sunlight making his sallow skin look healthier. “I’m still trying to find a way to get rid of him. Draco’s father has been no help, sadly.”

The blond grimaced. “He said if he had to suffer through Binns’ lessons then so do I.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll vanquish him yet.” Tom sucked on his teeth. “Maybe there’s some way to banish him. Or maybe bind him to one location. Stuff him in a trunk and drop it in the lake?”

Hermione swatted his shoulder with her notebook. “Stop that. Professor Binns isn’t  _ that  _ bad.” 

Tom was about to retort when he noticed Harry rubbing his scar. “You alright?”

Harry shook his head. “It keeps hurting. I don’t know  _ why.  _ It’s done it before, just never this often.”

“Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey.” Hermione suggested, biting her lip.

Harry just shook his head. “I’m not ill or anything. I think it’s warning me, maybe.”

“Relax mate.” Ron said where he lay on the grass. “Dumbledore won’t let anything happen. Tom said there’s some crazy strong wards protecting the Stone, and nothing’s going to get us in the castle. It’s  _ Hogwarts _ .”

Tom’s lips thinned. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He felt Draco tense beside him. He’d quietly asked Tom about the night in the Forest a few days back. He’d ended up telling Draco about the Stone on the third floor, and his suspicions about the Dark Lord and Dumbledore both. 

“What do you mean by that?” Asked Hermoine.

He stared down at his fingers twisting in blades of grass, watching as he tore them out from their roots. “I told you already I think the Stone is bait to lure the Dark Lord out. Bait is no good without a trap. I think Hogwarts is the trap, or something inside it. Dumbledore  _ wants  _ him to break in, to try and steal the Stone. Break into a school full of children.”

Hermoine chewed on the end of her fountain pen. “But Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen to students. He has a plan. We just need to trust him.”

Tom wanted to tell them, tell them what he knew about Dumbledore, how little the man actually cared. But he’d have to expose his weakness, tell them about the bruises and the cupboard and admit he was too  _ powerless  _ to fight back. To protect his brother. Tom couldn’t do it.

“Maybe.” Was all he said.

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet, making Tom startle beside him.

“Where are you going?” Ron called out after him.

“I just realized something.” Harry said, eyes wide and shifting from foot to foot. “I need to go talk to Hagrid,  _ now. _ ”

Tom got to his feet and rushed after Harry, the others following suit shortly after.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, keeping pace with his brother’s rushed strides.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon. And then a stranger turns up who just happens to have a dragon egg? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think?”

Tom went as pale as Harry, his thoughts going to the exact same place.  _ Of course _ .

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked behind them, but the brothers were already sprinting away.

Hagrid was never very good at keeping his mouth shut on a good day, but get him drunk and he’d say anything. Hagrid said he’d met the stranger who gave him the egg in a bar. He could have said  _ anything _ .

Like what was hidden inside Hogwarts and how to get to it.

Hagrid greeted them from his seat in front of his home, Fang lying contently at his feet. “Hullo!” He called out as the children got closer. “Finished your exams?”

Harry, uncharacteristically, ignored the greeting. “Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”

“Dunno,” he said with a shrug, “he wouldn’ take his cloak off. Not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, kept his hood up.”

Harry shifted anxiously. “What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”

“Mighta come up.” Hagrid scratched at his beard. “Yeah… he asked about what I did. I told him I was gamekeeper here. He asked about the sorta creatures I look after. Hmm, can’t remember too well, he kept buying me drinks…”

Tom felt his stomach sink. “Did you tell him about Fluffy?”

“Well o’ course. Said after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy. He was a bit worried, you see. Wanted to make sure I could handle it. Didn’t want the egg going to just anyone.”

“And did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Well, yeah. How many three headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? He was right curious about him, how to care for em, how to manage em. So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake of yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go right ter sleep-” Hagrid pales suddenly, his eyes going wide, “I shouldn’ta told yeh that. Forget I said it!”

Tom ignored anything else he might have said, too busy rushing back to the castle. The others were just behind him. “So we can all agree that the stranger who gave Hagrid the egg was fishing for information on the hellhound, right?”

Harry nodded. “We need to go to Dumbledore. Hagrid told the stranger how to get past Fluffy.”

“But the wards.” Argued Hermione. “Even if he got past Fluffy, he wouldn’t be able to break through the wards.”

Tom shook his head. “I said I didn’t think he’d be able to break through them  _ easily _ . Given enough time and power though… and he’s known how to get past the guard dog for  _ weeks _ now. Plenty of time to study the wards and figure out their anchors. Once you find a weak point, all you have to do is overpower it and the wards will shatter.”

Hermione went pale. “Oh…”

Tom nodded grimly. “I’ve been checking the trap door almost every night. I haven’t noticed anything. But if anyone can break through Dumbledore’s wards, it’d be a dark lord.”

Harry turned to look at him frantically. “Where’s Dumbledore’s office? You said you’d been there before.”

Tom hesitated, not wanting to return to the dragon’s lair and face the headmaster again. He was saved from having to make a decision with the arrival of McGonagall.

“What are you five doing standing around inside?” She asked over the large pile of books in her arms. “The weather is excellent outside and exams are over. You should be enjoying your free time.”

“We want to see Professor Dumbledore.” Hermione told her, wringing her hands together. “It’s urgent.”

McGonagall faltered. “Well, that won’t be possible at the moment. The headmaster left not ten minutes ago. He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off to London at once. He likely won’t be back until tomorrow.”

Tom felt his stomach drop out. Dumbledore was gone. The one assurance he had that the Stone would be safe, and he was gone. If the Dark Lord were going to steal the Stone, it was going to be that night.

Tom wasn’t going to let that happen.

* * *

He tried talking the others out of coming, he really, really did. Harry of course was a lost cause. His brother adamantly refused to let Tom go after the Stone alone. But he thought he could at least get the others to stay back. But Harry was friends with the stupidest and most stubborn Gryffindor had to offer, which was saying something. Ron and Hermione refused to be left out.

What really surprised Tom was Draco’s insistence on coming as well. He thought his fellow Slytherin would have more self preservation than that. 

“We’re going against the Dark Lord, you realize?”

Draco just looked grim. “I know. That’s why I have to help. I can’t let him come back. My father… my father renounced him to stay out of Azkaban. If he comes back… he won’t be happy.” The boy’s face was bloodless with anxiety, but he was no less determined for it. “Besides, you’re my cousins. I’m not going to let you two run off with nothing but a pair of  _ Gryffindors _ at your back.”

Tom felt oddly touched.

He snuck Draco up to the third floor using the many secret passages and hidden corridors he’d found over the months. Tom’s nighttime wandering had paid off, though he did find it was harder to stay undiscovered with a straggler. Still, they managed to get to the empty classroom without incident. The Gryffindors showed up moments later, Harry casting off the invisibility cloak hiding them.

Tom gripped his wand so tightly his knuckles went white. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Ron crossed his arms. “We’re sure.”

“I don’t know what’s going to be down there. What I might have to do to get us out of there alive.” Tom said. “It might be the troll all over again.” He warned.

“We know.” Said Hermione. “That’s why we feel safe coming with you, Tom. We know you’ll protect us.”

Tom’s breath caught with her admission. They put their faith in him… because of the monstrous things he’d done?

“You still scare me.” She admitted. “The things you can do, they’re terrifying. But I think we might need that, if we’re going to get through this.”

Harry’s hand wrapped around Tom’s wrist, squeezing once. “Let’s get that Stone.” He said with a grin.

They pushed open the door, Hagrid’s carved flute already against Harry’s lips. There was no need. Fluffy was fast asleep already, a harp beside one massive paw gently strumming. The trap door next to it was wide open, the wards once binding it shut completely shattered.

“He’s already here.” Tom said grimly. He bent over and cast a silent  _ lumos  _ to light up the yawning blackness beneath. The light at his wants tip did little to illuminate the space. Tom could faintly see something moving very,  _ very  _ far down. Something like tentacles, or maybe vines. He breathed in deeply, smelling damp earth and plant matter. Huffing, he funneled more energy into his  _ lumos _ , making the light flare brightly like an explosion. Deep below him thick vines flinched back.

With a soft chuckle, Tom jumped into the waiting foliage. 

He heard the cries of the others above him, Harry’s concerned voice calling out if he was okay.

“It’s devil's snare!” He yelled back up. “It cushions the fall! Jump down, it’s perfectly safe!”

“Oh, perfectly safe he says!” Tom heard Draco gripe. “It’s bloody  _ devil's snare _ !” The blond let out a startled yelp and moments later landed next to Tom in the vines.

“You pushed me!” He sputtered.

“You were taking too long!” Ron yelled back before he too jumped down, followed by Harry and lastly Hermoine. Soon all five of them had thick vines wrapping tightly around their bodies, slowly squeezing. Everyone but Hermoine was beginning to look panicked.

“Now what?” Asked Draco, struggling against the vines.

“Stop squirming.” Hermione snapped. “It’s making it worse.”

Tom ignored their bickering. He lifted his wand high and let out a blinding flash of light. The devil's snare flinched away, releasing them in its haste to escape the blinding light. The children rushed away from the creeping vines and toward the stone walls. Tom kept the light of his wand trained on the vines, keeping them at bay.

“Blimey.” Ron breathed. They all followed his gaze up toward the trap door. The light from it barely filtered down, it was so high up.

Or they were so far down.

“We’re really deep under the school.” Hermoine gasped. “Deeper than the dungeons, I’d guess.”

“And we won’t be able to get back up the same way.” Tom said grimly. The children around him paled. “Let’s go. The only way out is forward, now.”

They trekked through a stone passageway, heading further and further away from the tangle of devil's snare and an impossible escape. Tom didn’t like that they had no way to go back. If something went wrong, they’d be trapped down here. He’d at least had the sense of mind to send Noamhan off with a letter addressed to Dumbledore detailing what they were doing and why. It rankled him, having to rely on that man, but it was better than ending up dead. Unfortunately, London was a long flight from the Scottish highlands. It would be hours still before the owl reached his destination.

He only hoped that, if something were to go wrong, that Dumbledore would get there in time.

Eventually they made it to another chamber full of thousands of flying keys. They crossed over to the door on the other side, weary of the fluttering forms above them. The key, thankfully, did nothing.

They tried the door, but it was firmly locked. Hermione’s  _ alohomora _ did nothing. Neither did Tom’s more advanced unlocking charms. He was quickly getting impatient.

“Step back.” He instructed.

“Why?”

Tom glared at Hermione. “Just do it.”

Eventually they did. Once the area around him was clear, he pointed his wand once more at the door. “ _ Reducto.” _ The curse slammed into the door, but rather than breaking into bits, the energy was absorbed into a shimmering shield around it.

Tom hissed.  _ Annoying.  _

A  _ bombarda  _ yielded similar results. The damn thing was warded. They’d have to open it as intended.

“There’s brooms over there. I can fly up and find the key.” Harry said.

“There’s hundreds though. How will you find the right one?” Hermione asked.

Tom ignored them, staring instead at the door handle and the lock below it. The shape of it, the size. He pictured in his mind what the key must look like. Large and silver. “ _ Accio _ .” He muttered. Seconds later he caught a struggling key in his hand. He shoved the key into the lock and turned. The door opened with a click.

Tom could feel Draco’s eyes on him as they stepped through the doorway. “How did you do that?” He asked once they got to the next room. “You just said  _ accio,  _ nothing else.”

“I pictured the key in my head. It’s basically one step off from doing a wordless casting. Just saying ‘ _ accio _ keys’ would have brought the whole flock to me.”

Draco made an impressed sound in the back of his throat. “That’s really advanced.”

Tom found himself preening at the praise. The feeling was short lived once they got to the next room. A massive chest board awaited them. 

Breath hissed out between Tom’s clenched teeth. They didn’t have  _ time _ for this. The chess pieces moved to block his way but Tom just blasted through them, casting a shield around himself and the others to keep them safe from the debris.

He was keenly aware of the four missing black pieces on the board. These obstacles weren’t meant for the Dark Lord.

They were designed for  _ children _ .

Dumbledore  _ wanted _ them to go after the Stone. Silently, Tom seethed. Devil’s snare, a plant  _ first years  _ were taught about. Flying keys and brooms laid out for the taking, perfect for the youngest quidditch player in a century. And a giant chess set. So fitting, when there was a chess protege in the group. And four missing pieces.  _ Four.  _ One for each of them, if Draco had not joined last minute. 

These tests had been made for  _ them _ .

The next room held the body of a troll, it’s throat split open and a pool of red sinking into the stone around it. Tom ignored the sight, stepping around the body and toward the opposite door, just glad he wouldn’t have to deal with another troll. 

The others didn’t take it as well. Hermione recoiled from the body with a startled  _ eep _ . Draco looked similarly unnerved, while Ron just kept his gaze ahead though he looked queasy. 

The next room contained nothing but a table and seven bottles of varying sizes, the door out blocked with tongues of black fire. 

They all startled when the doorway behind them lit up with a purple blaze. Tom rolled his tongue between his teeth. Great, now they were trapped.

He looked forward, toward the table and their only clue on how to move on. Alongside the bottles was a piece of parchment. Hermione picked it up and read the clue aloud while Tom inspected the bottles.

“It’s not magic,” she realized. “It’s logic. Clever, really. Most wizards haven’t an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck here forever.”

Draco made a sound of offense beside her.

“Well, if you’re so clever then you figure it out.” She snapped at him.

Tom interrupted before the two could dissolve into more bickering. “It’s this one.” He said, holding up the small black vial.

“How do you know?” Asked Hermione.

“Because it’s the only one that’s been drunk out of.” He said simply. At her dubious look, he added, “I double checked using the puzzle, just in case.” He swirled the potion around in its vial. “There’s only enough for two people to drink.”

“We’ll go then.” Said Harry, stepping forward, snatching the vial out of Tom’s hand. He bit his tongue against Harry’s sharp, knowing gaze.  _ Idiot _ , Tom should have said there was only enough for one and downed the whole thing himself. Force Harry to go back with the others. Too late for that now. Besides, his brother knew him too well. Harry’s playful glare was enough proof of that.  _ Don’t you dare think of leaving me behind,  _ it said.

Tom nodded at a bottle at the end of the line. “The rest of you, drink from that one. It will let you go back. You can use the brooms in the key room to fly up again and get out. Find a professor. Hopefully my letter to Dumbledore will have reached him by now.”

Draco was already reaching for the vial, but Hermione hesitated. “Are you sure?” Her eyes flicked between the two brothers. “It might be You-Know-Who on the other side of that door.”

Harry smiled, the edges trembling and nervous. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I’ll kill him before I let him touch Harry.” Tom swore.

Hermione made a strangled sound and suddenly they were both wrapped tightly in a hug. “Be safe,  _ please.”  _ She murmured between Tom’s cheek and Harry’s bangs.

Two more pairs of arms found themselves around the boys and all five children were clinging tight to one another in goodbye.

“You come back, you hear?” Draco demanded.

“Or what? You’ll tell your father?” Harry grinned back, making Draco give a wet laugh.

Ron pulled back to look Tom in the eyes. “You give him hell, you hear?” He said with a wavering grin. “I reckon you’re even scarier than You-Know-Who, Tom. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Tom choked on his own saliva, a suspicious burning starting up behind his eyes. His return smile was strained and so very brittle. He felt like he didn’t know what to do with his face. It didn’t make it any less genuine.

The red head looked at his brother, hand on his shoulder, “You’re my best mate, Harry. So don’t die, or I’m gonna be really mad, okay?” Ron said, pointing a stern finger toward Harry’s runny nose.

“Of course Ron.” Harry laughed, his eyes shiny in the reflection of the strange fire. “Now go on, you guys leave first. We’ll be fine.”

Hermione took a swig from the round bottle before handing it to Ron then Draco. One by one they passed safely back through the purple fire. 

“You ready?” Harry asked, raising the bottle upon a toast.

Tom took a deep breath, his rib cage rattling with nerves. “Let’s get this over with.” Harry’s mouth thinned in a determined line. He took a small sip from the black vial before handing it over to Tom. Closing his eyes, Tom swallowed back the rest of it like a shot. A feeling like ice tingled under his skin. Hand in hand, the brothers stepped through the black fire and into the next room.

* * *

Cold was the first thing Tom felt. Cold and empty. It wasn’t the potion, though he could still feel it freezing his insides. This was a different kind of cold. Deeper.

Once the tongues of black fire receded he was met with a cavernous room, the Mirror of Erised standing ominous in the center. And staring into the mirror, his back to the boys, was-

“Professor Quirrell?” Harry gasped.

Quirrell spun around, looking entirely unsurprised to see them. “Hello boys. I was wondering if you two were going to show up.”

Tom’s grip tightened around his wand. So the stutter had been fake after all. “You were the one who tried to knock Harry off his broom, then. Tried to kill him.”

Quirrell sneered. “Yes, and I nearly managed it too, if my curse hadn’t been broken. A few more seconds and little Harry Potter would have been a stain on the grass.”

Tom grinned, all teeth. “I wouldn’t have allowed that.”

Quirrell hummed. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. Bouncing charm, was it? Clever, very clever” His eyes were sharp. “You’re a smart one. Would have done well in Ravenclaw.”

“Thank you.” Tom said blandly, shark grin still in place. Quirrell looked unfazed. It made him anxious. Tom didn’t have a nice smile. He wasn’t used to people being unaffected by it. Tom felt Harry’s hand squeezed tightly against his own, giving him courage. “I’m terribly curious, Professor. What on earth do you want the Stone for?” 

“Oh, isn’t it obvious? It’s a very powerful thing, the Philosopher’s Stone. The Elixir of Life will be most useful.” Quirrell said brightly before binding them tightly in summoned ropes. “Now shut up while I examine this strange little mirror.”

Harry began to struggle against the bindings immediately. Tom brushed his elbow against his brother's side, then discretely shook his head once he had Harry’s attention. They would wait. It was only Quirrell, not much of a threat. Tom was confident in his ability to take the man down if need be. For now though, he wanted information.

Harry nodded, no longer trying to break free. Tom glanced down to see he too had his wand in hand.  _ Good boy. _

“The mirror is the key to finding the Stone.” Quirrell muttered to himself. “Of course Dumbledore would use something like this to hide it from me.” He hissed, feeling around the silver frame. “But how to get it, I wonder.  _ I show not your reflection but your greatest desire… _ ”

“You’re working for the Dark Lord, aren’t you?” Tom wondered aloud, noticing how Quirrell froze. “Where  _ is  _ your master?” 

“That is the question, isn’t it?” He mused, not denying his allegiance at all. Neither did he answer the question.

Harry was glaring at the man, lips pulled back in a near snarl. “ _ Why _ ? Why would you serve a monster like him? He’s  _ evil. _ ”

Quirrell turned to face them completely. “You silly little boy.” He laughed. “There is no such thing as good and evil…”

“Only choices.” Tom murmured.

“Only  _ power _ .” Challenged Quirrell. “Power, and those too weak to seek it.”

And that was a dangerously lovely philosophy, wasn’t it? Something Tom knew he could too easily believe in. Something he knew deep inside to be true. You survived, or you didn’t. It all depended on what you were willing to do.

_ Live one more day. Just one more day. _

Quirrell stared at them, his gaze unreadable. The look made Tom’s skin crawl. Finally, he turned back to the mirror, muttering to himself under his breath.

Tom threaded his magic through the ropes around him, ready to shred them at any moment.

“ _ Damn it.”  _ Quirrell hissed. He turned to look back at them, calculating. “Perhaps…” he mused to himself. A grin pulled itself across the man’s face, shark like and wicked. He took a step toward them and adrenaline shot through Tom’s veins. He shredded through the ropes with his magic, raising his wand against Quirrell. His arm was steady. Harry beside him lifted his own trembling wand.

Quirrell barked out a laugh, high and reedy. “I really shouldn’t have underestimated you, should I?” He grinned. “Come here, come.” He said, waving his hand.

Tom felt magic grasp around him and drag him forward. He flared against it, severing the connection. “I can walk myself, you know.” He hissed.

Quirrell just looked delighted. “Very well them.” He said, gesturing to the spot beside himself. “Come, both of you. Tell me what you see.”

Tom hesitated a moment before stepping forward, wand still aimed at Quirrell’s jugular. Harry followed close behind. The man grabbed Tom by the shoulders and dragged him before the mirror. “What you see.” He demanded. His eyes were wild and hungry, fingers digging into Tom’s bony shoulder through his shirt.

Tom forced himself to look into the mirror. It was the same beings he had seen before. He wondered if he should lie, decided against it. “There’s two figures. They aren’t human. I’m not sure  _ what _ they are.”

Quirrell’s face twisted in confusion. “Describe them.” He demanded.

“I- I can’t. I don’t know how. They’re… they’re ancient, whatever they are. Powerful. One’s white, covered in blood. The other is all black. It looks almost like a dementor.” Tom hesitated. “I think they might be Life and Death.” He admitted.

Quirrell made a strange sound. “A desire to live forever, maybe? Power over life and death?” He mused. “Commendable, but ultimately useless for what I need.” Contrary to his words, his eyes were assessing. 

Sighing, Quirrell grabbed hold of Harry’s arm and pulled him closer. “What about you,” he snapped at Harry, “what do you see?”

Harry stared into the mirror for a moment before answering, “I-I see myself. I’ve just won the house cup for Gryffindor.” He lied. Tom could hear it in the weavor of his voice, feelin it in the bond between them.

It seemed, so could Quirrell.

“Liar.” He grinned nastily. “Now tell me the truth, what do you really see?”

“My parents.” Snapped Harry. “My parents who your master  _ murdered. _ ”

Quirrell chuckled. “Hmm, that makes a bit more sense. You’re not lying, not  _ entirely,  _ at least.” His eyes flickered down to Harry’s pocket. “But not entirely truthful either, are you?”

Tom pushed Harry back behind him, wand once again raised and a cutting curse on his tongue. One move, and he would slice Quirrell’s throat open.

“I do regret that. You’re parents. Such a  _ waste. _ ”

Dread trickled down Tom’s spine, his wand wavering just the slightest bit. “You aren’t Quirrell at all.” He realized. “At least not anymore. You have his body, but he’s not the one in control. Possession?”

Not-Quirrell grinned widely. “Clever, clever boy. No, poor Quirinus hasn’t been in control for a while now. Not since Halloween.” He sighed. “It’s been so tiresome, pretending to be that moron.” Not-Quirrell  _ tisked _ .

“Voldemort.” Harry whispered against Tom’s back.

The Dark Lord’s eyes locked on to Harry over Tom’s shoulder. “Curious, that you would use my name, when so few are brave enough to utter it.”

“It’s just a name.” Harry snarled. “I don’t know what’s so scary about it.”

The Dark Lord chuckled, low and mocking. “And yet your brother refuses to say it, calls me  _ Dark Lord  _ instead. As I said,  _ curious _ .” His wolf-grin was a reflection of Tom’s own. “Usually only my faithful call me Dark Lord.” He murmured.

Harry’s hands fisted tight against the back of Tom’s shirt. He could feel them trembling through the fabric.

“Give me the Stone now, Harry. I know you have it. Hand it over, and I’ll be on my way.” The Dark Lord said, hand outstretched.

Harry’s breath hitched. Tom’s wand stayed pointed at the man’s bare throat. He might not be able to destroy the wraith, but he could kill its vessel. And yet something held him back. Stayed his hand. He couldn’t make himself utter the curse that would slice open the meat of Quirrell’s neck. He didn’t think it was the thought of murdering a human being. 

“You could have killed me, that night in the Forest.” Tom said. “You could kill us both right now. Why don’t you?”

The Dark Lord smirked. “Don’t you know what they say about gift horses and mouths, boy?” Tom blinked, startled at the very  _ muggle  _ response. “No, I don’t want to kill you. Not now, at least. I find you both to be  _ quite  _ fascinating. Especially you,  _ Tom _ Potter.” He crooned, emphasizing his name as if it had meaning, as if it were a clue. Or a riddle.

Pain built beneath Tom’s skull. His wand shook in his hand.

The body of Quirrell took a step forward. The void inside Tom opened wide, screaming beneath his breastbone. The other part of himself reached out in turn,  _ aching. _ Quirrell’s mouth opened in a gasp, the thing looking out behind his blue eyes staring at Tom in awe. Tom choked on his own soul. The torn edges inside him festered and burned. They begged for completion.

_ I don’t want to remember _ , Tom thought in panic.  _ I refuse to be you. _

Voldemort took another step forward, reaching,  _ wanting. _

_ “Mine.”  _ Tom didn’t know if the word was spoken aloud or inside his head. He was burning inside his own skin. A pale hand reached for him, and Tom felt his soul reaching back.  _ No! _

A bright red curse flew unbidden from the tip of Tom’s wand. Warm red sprayed across his face as Quirrell’s throat was split open, the white of his voice box flexing as he choked on his own blood. A hand came up to try and hold the gash closed but it was no use. A fountain of crimson spilled out between long fingers. It painted Quirrell’s chest in brilliant ruby. Tom remembered when he had been dressed in silver instead.

The man gurgled as he fell to his knees, one eye panicked and pleading in death throes. The other glared, livid that Tom dared defy him. A black mass tore itself out of Quirrell’s body as more red bubbled up and stained his gasping mouth. It paused beside Tom. Tendrils reached out, searching, asking. His own soul reached back. It begged to welcome the piece back in. The yawning mouth wishing to lap up this poison, swallow it down and be whole again.

Tom locked his mind down tight. He grasped hold of those memories, that knowledge, and tore it down to nothing.  _ I will not become you _ . He pushed the poison out his veins, spurned it with his rejection.  _ Find another puppet you parasite. _

The wraith screamed as its former host bled out, the slim tie connecting it severed. Tom refused to give it another.

The shadow that had once been the Dark Lord fled, leaving behind two boys and a body. Once it was gone, Tom collapsed to his knees. Harry screamed as he fell, hands grasping at his robes, trying to hold him up.

His vision suddenly filled with a pair of worried green eyes. Harry’s hands pressed against his cheekbones, thin thumbs trying to wipe the blood off his face.

“Tom, Tom please. Answer me. Tom.”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gaping hole in Quirrell’s neck. The could see bits over vertebrae poking out the other side. Strangely, Tom felt nothing but numb. He figured he’d be a bit more horrified to have murdered a human being.

_ It’s just like a troll. _

“ _ Tom.” _ Harry begged, his voice cracking.

Finally, finally, he pulled his eyes away from the red meat of the inside of Quirrell’s throat, still twitching from the dying nervous system. Tom blinked up at Harry, eyes still hazy but trying to focus. “I’m’alrigh’.” He slurred, cockney leaking in thick. “I’m’ere, right? I’m fine.” He licked his lips, tasting the iron of Quirrell’s blood. He wondered if he’d be cursed now too, the memory of silver staining the man’s robes fresh behind his eyes.

“We’re safe. We’re arright, Tom, we’re awright. 'e’s gone. Yer got 'im. 'e’s gone.” Harry rambled, dragging Tom away from the red staining the ground. He kept glancing back toward the body before forcing his gaze back ahead. 

Tom grabbed Harry by the shoulder, forcing his attention on his blood splattered face. “Don’t look. I don’t want yer lookin' at that.”

Harry nodded shakily. “Kay.”

Tom forced himself to his feet. He ignored his shaking legs and trembling fingers, wand still miraculously clenched in his left hand. He glanced back at the black fire still burning at the doorway. The cold in his bones had long fled. They had no way back through. “We’re gonna 'ave ter wait 'ere until the others come back wiv a Professor.” 

He pulled Harry down to sit beside him next to the doorway, keeping his body between his brother and Quirrell’s corpse. “Don’ look.” He reminded. 

Harry leaned against Tom’s side. “I’m not.” He murmured back, thin body shaking.

They sat like that for minutes, maybe hours, neither moving. Tom stared into nothing trying to ignore the pain in his skull and the returning blankness of his memories. He hid himself behind his occlumency shields, hunkering down below his mental fortress. He ignored the screams of things he’d rather ignore trapped deep in the bowels of his mind. 

A flash of red out the corner of his eyes pulled Tom from the walls of his mind. He glanced over to the glowing red stone clasped between his brother’s fingers. It flickered like a live coal, but it’s sides were smooth like cut glass.

“The Philosopher’s Stone.” He murmured.

Harry silently held it out. Tom picked up the Stone with trembling hands. Immediately the emptiness inside him surged forward, biting into the Stone’s magic and trying to drink it dry. He dropped it with a gasp, the tips of his fingers burning.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked as he carefully picked the Stone back up.

Tom nodded mutely. His bones ached where the stolen magic settled into his hands. The tiredness of his sleepless nights and missed meals felt him, his mind clearing for the first time in what felt like days. He curled around the rush of energy, greedy for more, terrified to take another bite.

Harry did not offer the Stone again, and Tom refused to ask. They sat there in silence until the black fire vanished and Dumbledore stepped through the doorway, the other Professor’s behind him. They all froze when they saw the boys, Tom coated in drying blood. McGonagall made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob when she saw Quirrell’s body, strings of muscle exposed to the air.

“Voldemort was possessing him.” Harry said, quickly standing to place himself between Tom and the adults. “He was after the Stone. We tried to stop him, but then the Stone appeared in my pocket and he was going to take it and probably kill us so Tom stopped him.” He rushed out.

Dumbledore stared down at them. His gaze went first to Harry, then fell on Tom. A shiver clawed its way up his spine as that unnerving gaze landed on him.  _ Judge me,  _ Tom thought,  _ and find me guilty.  _

_ Will you do it yourself,  _ he wondered,  _ or have another act in your place? _

But Dumbledore did not condemn him. He simply held out his hand for the Stone, led the boys out of the chamber, and told them he was glad they were safe. His cold eyes did not leave Tom the whole time.

_ You are guilty, _ they said,  _ but I have use of you yet. _

* * *

They spent the night in the hospital wing at Madam Pomfrey’s orders, Hermoine, Ron, and Draco already waiting for them. Harry told the three what happened in hushed whispers while Tom followed Pomfrey through another door and into a restroom to shower.

He stood listlessly for minutes, watching as the water beneath his feet turned red, then pink, then finally clear again. He drubbed at his hair and face and arms until they went raw and his skin tore off, but he still couldn’t get the feeling of blood off him. The stain would always be there, even if the red had been washed away.

He was never going to escape this, he knew.

Tom finally left the spray when the water finally ran cold, dressing in the clean clothes Pomfrey had laid out for him. They rubbed at his irritated skin, making the clawed open scratches on his arms and chest burn. Tom welcomed the feeling.

He ignored the questions thrown his way as he came back into the infirmary, instead slipping into an open bed with a soft goodnight and an assurance to Harry that,  _ yes he was feeling better, thank you. _ Pomfrey shooed Hermione, Draco,,and Ron back to their dorms shortly after, leaving the brothers alone.

Tom closed his eyes, but could find no sleep.

The next morning Tom sat anxious as a live-wire as half of Gryffindor house and a good portion of Slytherin filtered in and out of the hospital wing with gifts and well wishes. Pomfrey shooed most out before they could make it past the door, torn between checking on her charges and keeping the curious students out. She was distracted enough that the Weasley Twins managed to sneak in and proudly gift Harry a toilet seat.

She declared them both in good health and said they could leave once the Headmaster came down to speak to them, bringing the other three with him. Tom momentarily felt as if he were reliving Halloween all over again, beat for beat. Even her concerned eyes on Tom after casting some diagnostics felt the same.  _ Core too large for his age,  _ he remembered. What would it be like now, after swallowing up part of the Philosopher’s Stone?

Dumbldore came and sat beside them, telling them they had done very well, and he was glad they were all safe. His eyes twinkled merrily as he congratulated them all on inter-house unity, how pleased he was to see Gryffindor and Slytherin working together.

Tom didn’t trust a word of it.

Dumbledore told them the Stone was to be destroyed. That something like it should probably not have existed in the first place. 

Hermione voiced her concern for the Flamel’s, making the old man’s eyes  _ sparkle.  _ “Oh, you know about Nicolas?” He asked delightedly. “You  _ did  _ do the thing properly, didn’t you?”

Those words made Tom go cold inside. So he had wanted them to go after the Stone. The ‘protection’ was proof enough, but to hear Dumbledore say it, though maybe not in so many words…

“To one as young as you all, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very,  _ very  _ long day.” Dumbledore explained. “After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all.” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Tom, his next words seemingly meant for him in particular. “The trouble is, humans have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worse for them.”

Dumbledore left soon after that. Madam Pomfrey discharged he and Harry from the hospital wing and they were shooed away to go fend for themselves against the crowd of inquisitive children. Ron finally snapped and yelled that Tom and Harry had fought You-Know-Who and Quirrell was dead but the Dark Lord wasn’t and they had to get past a giant three-headed dog to do it all and it had all been quite nerve-wracking so could you all kindly  _ bugger off! _

No one really believed him, but it least gave them some breathing room. 

Tom sat down the Slytherins later and told them what he could. They were all shocked to hear the Dark Lord was really back, but with Tom and Draco’s testimony both, they couldn’t argue against it. They seemed most surprised to hear that the Dark Lord seemingly had no intention to kill either Potter.

“Don’t tell anyone. At least not yet.” Tom looked pointedly at those he knew to be the children of Death Eaters. “There will be time to tell your families he’s back, but now is not it. He’s just a wraith, powerless and without even a body. For now, we gather more information. Wait to see how the cards fall. Then we make our move, like any good Slytherin.” They nodded in understanding, ready to follow Tom’s lead.

They looked at him with awe, with respect. The boy who stood against the Dark Lord and survived. 

The week after that went by in a blur. Harry insisted on playing in the quidditch match the next day. Eventually the professors relented. The snitch hid long enough that by the time Harry caught it, Ravenclaw had enough of a lead that they still managed to win by a handful of points. 

Harry beat himself up over it, but his team insisted it was understandable he wasn’t quite tip top after what happened, there’s always next year. Oliver Wood still cried at the loss.

Hagrid came by to profusely apologize for telling Not-Quirrell how to get past Fluffy, blaming himself for the whole thing. Tom ended up smacking him upside the head and yelling at him that the man was a bloody  _ dark lord _ , if he wanted to get past Fluffy he very well could, putting the mutt to sleep was just the simplest way to do it and at least the big hound wasn’t killed,  _ besides _ , you didn’t know you big oaf, so don’t go blaming yourself!

Hagrid has started crying even more after that. Tom yelled at him some for to pull his head out of his arse,  _ you’re a grown wizards aren’t you, stop acting like a child. And don’t you dare even think about going off to live with the muggles, you are staying right here with me so we can go out and harass the unicorns, it’s no fun alone. _

That got the man to stop his weeping and give Tom a wobbly smile. After, he gifted Tom and Harry a leather bound book full of photos of their parents. Harry started crying, which set Hagrid off again. Even Tom’s eyes burned a bit by the end of it.

Hagrid quickly joined the short list of people Tom would do anything for. It was far longer than he’d ever imagined it being.

Tom couldn’t find it in himself to be upset.

Slytherin won the house cup a few days later for the first time in years. Turns out when a house is full of the children of people who fought against you in a decade long war, even Professors tend to be the tiniest bit biased against it. The snakes were thrilled at their win, though the other houses didn’t look pleased. 

Gryffindor was at least happy with their close second place spot after Dumbledore awarded last minute points to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

They got their exam results back. Tom was proud to find he’d made top of the class, right there with Hermione, unsurprisingly. He’d had no doubt the clever muggleborn would trounce everyone else in their year. Harry and Ron both did far better than either boy had expected. Hermione’s bullying and Tom’s constant tutoring seemed to have paid off. 

Draco went to gloat over his own good grades, only to have to eat his words when Hermione showed him she’d done better in every single class except potions (though that was only partially because of Snape’s bias, Draco was actually very good at potions). Draco declared then and there he would beat her next year, no way was he going to let someone who’d only found out about the magic world a year ago show him up. He’d managed to say it in a way that  _ didn’t  _ imply insult to the girl’s heritage, progress.

Hermione readily agreed to the challenge. Tom found their budding rivalry absolutely delightful.

Over the following days, Tom spent much of his time wandering Hogwarts’ halls, trying to memorize every stone and painting. He never wanted to leave this place, was dreading returning to the Relatives.

He spent his last night in the Forbidden Forest, saying goodbye to his unicorns and the trees. He sang along to the ancient song humming through the woods as he wandered through. The Old Ones watched him from a distance, curious and patient. He visited the graves of the lost herd members before he left, summoning sprigs of purple hyacinth to lay atop the little mare, the earth over her plot not yet settled. 

All too soon his trunk was packed and Tom boarded onto the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the students. He sat with Harry beside him, their owls perched happily on their shoulders preening dark curls. Ron sat beside Harry, chatting away about quidditch. Across them Draco and Hermione argued about something or another. Tom was beginning to suspect it was their way of flirting.

He stared out the window as greenery sped past, thoughts swirling. Homesickness burned his chest the further the train fled from Hogwarts. Tom stroked his fingers over Naomhan’s head, eyes dry but throat burning.

Tom let himself be lost in the comfort of his chosen few, Harry pressed against his side like an extension of himself. A little over two months, that’s all he had to wait and then he’d be back. He could survive two months.

The Dark Lord was still out there, he knew. He wouldn’t be content to remain a wraith forever, Tom was sure he’d be back. When he did, he’d be out for blood. Tom needed to prepare for that. Gather his strength and his allies, ready for war.

Tom had faced down trolls and Old gods and an undead Dark Lord. He could make it through whatever else life threw his way.

_ Oh how wrong he was. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: the kiddos find the dead body of a troll Quirrellmort killed. Later Tom kills Quirrell possessed by Voldemort by cutting open his neck with a cutting curse. It’s described fairly graphically. 
> 
> So I’ve added a bunch of illistrations to this fic! Drew little header images for each chapter which look very sexy imo. A few past chapters have larger images as well. I’m very proud of how it all turned out.  
> Holy shiitake mushrooms, this beast of a chapter was nearly 12k words long. Twice what I usually post. And with it, year one comes to a close. Cannot believe I’ve written so much, and such a short amount a time. It seriously blows my mind.  
> Do you guys feel like I should have hinted that Voldemort was controlling Quirrell the whole time? I feel like I should have dropped a few more clues, idk. It was a bit of a last minute addition on my part.   
> Speaking of Moldy-shorts, I’m going to be writing him a bit different from canon. I’m going for a more terrifyingly competent antagonist who’s not so much ‘evil’ as he is above morals. Going around killing willy-nilly and torturing your followers isn’t exactly the best way to take over the world. IMO black and white ‘evil’ villains aren’t very scary, or interesting. The villains that frighten me are the ones that are *right*, the ones you could see yourself falling in with. The ones that reflect your own ideas and morals, but twisted just slightly so they reflect what you yourself could become if pushed too far. I’m really trying to explore themes of grey morality, and that no one really sees themselves as a villain, that there are reasons for every act, even the monsterous ones. As Tom says: there is no good or evil, only choices.   
> On that note, I am so so excited for year two. I’ve got some ideas that I cannot wait to show you. Second and third year both are gonna be a LOT of fun.   
> I’m a bit tempted to split this into a series instead of leaving it all one gigantic fic. What do you think? Split it up or keep it all as one thing? The only thing that’s holding me back is the fact I’ll have to come up with titles for every book, oof. If I end up going the series route, I’ll be renaming this fic and using Empiricist for the series title. Let me know your thoughts.  
> Thanks so much for reading you guys. Seriously, the serotonin boost I get from every kudos and bookmark gets me through the day, not to mention reviews. Tbh I think I’m a little bit addicted to the rush of getting reviews.  
> I wish you all a great Sunday/Monday and stay safe lovlies. Until next week.


	12. What a Glorious Set of Stairs We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dursley’s do not welcome them back kindly. A warning is given. Rescue comes with a flying car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for physical child abuse, internalized victim blaming, disordered eating, a brief mention of owls eating stay cats, and Tom’s murder fantasies. This is not a nice chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from Have a Nice Life’s song ‘BloodHail’

* * *

* * *

  
The Dursleys did not take kindly to having two young wizards in their home. They had never been tolerant of their nephews' unnaturalness, had tried to beat it out of them on several occasions. Tom had expected more of the same treatment when he and Harry had returned to Privet Drive, maybe some slight escalation.

He’d never considered it would get this bad, though.

Blood dripped lazily from his broken nose, his shaking hands doing little to stem the flow. It was the least of his problems, really. Annoyingly messy, but not as painful as his back and sides and wrist. He didn’t think anything was broken, at least, but the bruises would last for weeks and he couldn’t move his right hand without pain.

At least his left was fine.

There wasn’t anything he could do for the swelling or the blood, locked in the cupboard as he was. The Uncle wasn’t bound to let him out anytime soon so there was no way to get ice or rags. He’d just have to grin and bear it.

Tom tilted his head back in an attempt to keep the bleeding of his nose from getting on him anymore that it already had. He coughed as thick rivets of copper rolled down his throat. He felt like crying.  _ Weak. _

Idiot, he was a bloody idiot. He hadn’t been thinking, so used to Hogwarts and the freedom to do magic whenever he liked, openly and proud. 

He’d been polishing the china,  _ like he was asked to _ , when the Cousin had slammed into him and knocked the plate out of his hand. He’d just reacted on instinct, freezing the stupid thing before it could shatter on the ground. The Dursleys should be  _ thankful.  _

Instead he got hit so hard in the face his nose broke, the Uncle red faced and livid. Tom had been too shocked to react. Just fell back with blood gushing out his nose. Harry’s scream as Tom hit the ground had hurt worse than the blow itself. His brother had tried to step in between the two, had tried to protect  _ him.  _ Vernon wasn’t having it.

Harry had made a sound like a wounded animal when he was dragged upstairs and locked in their bedroom while Tom could do nothing but lay on the ground and bleed. Useless, stupid, just sat there head spinning while Harry was dragged away. Sat there and waited for the Uncle to come back, for his punishment for daring to exist. Sat there and let the leather of a belt bite into his skin.

He hated them,  _ hated them.  _ Pathetic weak  _ muggles _ , treating them like dirt, like vermin. Locking Harry away while he pounded on the door and screamed and begged  _ “please don’t ‘urt ‘im, please, it were an accident, please just don’t ‘urt ‘im.” _

Tom felt sick all over again.

He closed his eyes, the pain around his cheekbone pulsing with his heartbeat. His scalp burned from where the Uncle had grabbed him by the hair.  _ “I’ll have none of this freakishness in my home! None of it! I let you go to that basted school, more than the two of you deserve!”  _

He hadn’t made a sound the whole time, never had. His jaw remained clenched shut when the belt was taken to him and when he was dragged by his wrist and tossed into the oppressive dark of the empty cupboard. The only sound Tom allowed himself was a shuddered gasp once he was alone.

The welts on his back and side stretched uncomfortably with every breath Tom took. He didn’t understand. Why was he so weak? So scared? He’d killed a mountain troll, larger and more deadly than Vernon Dursley could ever hope to be. He sang church hymns to a hellhound, stared down the Burning One.

Survived a Dark Lord.

So why, why did an overweight  _ muggle  _ bring him low? Why was he so afraid of something he could tear to pieces with his mind?

Why couldn’t he fight back.

“Coward.” He spat, dark blood dripping down his chin. The cupboard was going to stain at this rate. A reminder branded in the wood below him, taunting his weakness every time he was thrown inside.

Reminding him how he let himself be hurt. A reminder he could bleed, that he could  _ die _ . Insulting.  _ Weak. _

Tom wiped at his nose, spreading the blood across his face. He hated that too. Hurting,  _ bleeding. _

_ Pathetic and Weak. _

His head pounded. Harry had stopped screaming a long time ago. He hoped he was okay. Would they let him out soon? How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? He was still bleeding, so probably not.

Then again, Tom tended to bleed a lot. His blood didn’t like clotting. Like it wanted out of his body. Even his own cells trying to kill him.

Tom sometimes wondered if maybe the world around him just wanted him dead. If maybe he wasn’t supposed to exist, and all the horrible things that happened to him was reality trying to correct its mistake. Smother the dark thing inside him. 

Was that why they treated Tom and Harry different? If Tom didn’t exist, would they be kind to his brother? Treat him like actual family? 

His face ached.

* * *

The Aunt let him out of the cupboard the next morning. The Uncle had already left for work and the Cousin had run off to play with his own friends. She looked at him oddly as he stepped out into the light. If Tom didn’t know better, he’d say it was regret.

Harry was there waiting for him next to the Aunt. He’d pulled Tom into a hug as soon as he was out of the cupboard, crying and apologizing. So guilty for something he couldn’t control. Couldn’t hope to prevent. Begging forgiveness for something that would never be his fault. It was so very Harry. Tom hated that part of his brother. He was better than that. Should never have to apologize for anything. And yet he did.

He probably wouldn’t be Harry if he didn’t.

Harry helped him wash the dried blood off his face, cried more as it revealed the purple bruising of his skin underneath. Tom still couldn’t turn his wrist all the way.

The Aunt made them breakfast after. Just some toast and eggs, but it was more than they were used to. Maybe it was an apology, maybe it was because she was afraid someone would notice the thin bones and hollow cheeks and bruises.

She’d been doing things like that since they’d gotten back. Cut their hair to make them look nicer, bought them clothes that actually fit. Doing her best to make sure no one at Hogwarts would find out how they were treated behind closed doors.

As if it mattered. As if Dumbledore would ever let them leave.

Tom hadn’t been able to eat the eggs. He hadn’t felt hungry in weeks, even though he’d barely been eating. That was concerning, wasn’t it? Even a few bites of toast had made him sick.

He hadn’t been eating well since the unicorn died.

Once they were done eating the Aunt came over with a bottle of liquid foundation in hand. She told Tom to sit still as she smeared makeup on his face to try and cover the bruising. She was strangely gentle as she did it, careful not to press hard with the sponge.

She held his face in her hands, touching him almost kindly as she worked. “Please, no more magic.” She said softly while painting over the green and yellow marks along his cheek. “Not while you’re here. It’ll only make things worse.”

He looked up at her, met her hazel eyes. Green like their mother, but not quite. Could have been, should have been. Almost but not quite.

_ Please, no more magic. Magic killed Lily. Please just be normal. If you were normal you’d be alright. We tried to make you normal. _

Tom tore his eyes away, Petunia’s guilt  _ I’m so sorry Lily, should have treated them better, deserve more than this, my fault my fault  _ and her anger,  _ took her, killed her my baby sister, left me with these two, they’ll come back, killed my sister, they’ll come for the boys too, put my family in danger, why couldn’t they just be  _ **_normal,_ ** and her fear  _ he scares me, those dead eyes, the things he can do, at least Harry is kind  _ echoing in his head.

Tom bit through the tip of his tongue to keep himself from screaming. Finally the Aunt,  _ Petunia  _ (the last family you have left)  ~~ not much of a family is she? ~~ finished trying to cover the bruises. Her lips thinned, looking it over, before finally nodding.

“Stay out today, both of you. Clean up the lawn, I want everything mowed and watered. Do what you like after, but don’t come back until late.”  _ Stay away from Vernon  _ remained unsaid. She grabbed her purse and fished out a handful of bills. “So you can get some lunch.” She told him, handing them over. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Tom took the money and stuffed it in his pocket before she could change her mind. He nodded, the best he could offer as a thank you. He was grateful she didn’t demand he say it aloud, just shooed them out with a sour look.

Harry fretted over him as they worked on their chores, insisting he do the brunt of the work and forcing Tom to take constant breaks. It was getting grating.

“I’m not made of glass.” He snarled when it finally got to be too much. “They’re just bruises, I’m  _ fine _ .”

Harry looked stricken, wide eyes and so very  _ sad _ . “You shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place.” He said after a beat. “You shouldn’t… this isn’t  _ right _ , Tom.” Harry looked at him, his shaking hands and wrist that wouldn’t turn all the way and the little bits of yellow-green not covered by the makeup. “I can’t  _ fix it _ .” He said, sounding small. “Please just…”

_ Let me do this. Let me help in the small ways I can. _

Tom bit back his guilt. Sorry was a useless word anyway. Instead he pulled Harry close by his wrists and into a hug, pressing their foreheads together. “I know. Thank you.”

They finished the yard work, Tom letting Harry fuss and fret as much as he liked. It was nice, the manual labor. Not thinking, just doing, working with his hands. Better than being trapped in that house, at least.

Hedwig and Naomhan watched them work from a nearby tree. The boys had set the owls free after returning to Privet Drive, realizing the Relatives weren’t likely to let them fly in and out of the house at their leisure. Harry had been worried about the owls' safety, but Tom had assured him they were the most dangerous things in the area and could easily take care of themselves.

Besides, better to be outside where they could fly and hunt and roost in trees then trapped inside. The Uncle had already locked all their school items up tight in the attic with the threat of severe consequences if they tried to get to them. Tom hated to think what the man would have done if they’d brought the owls into their room with them. He thought of the bars on their windows and realized the birds likely would have starved to death.

The large white birds certainly seemed to appreciate their freedom. They had claimed the tallest tree in the back yard as their own and took to watching Harry and Tom work during the day, calling out to them occasionally. At night they would rooste near the window and watch over the sleeping boys when they weren’t out ridding the neighborhood of squirrels and small cats.

Tom felt oddly grateful toward the birds for that. They were far more loyal than he’d ever imagined an owl being, and had more than once managed to scare away the Cousin and his pack in the week since the brothers returned to Number Four.

Hedwig swooped down to land on Harry’s shoulder once the sun was high in the sky and everything was watered and mowed. She ran her beak gently through his hair, making Harry laugh.

Tom couldn’t stop his soft smile as he watched the white bird groom Harry like a fretful mother. He could almost imagine her admonishing him for the sweat and dirt covering him.

A glance up into the tree showed that Naohman was fast asleep. Tom’s owl wasn’t nearly as cuddly as Hedwig tended to be, though he didn’t particularly mind. He wasn’t sure he’d appreciate a pet that aggressively tried to feed and groom him like Harry’s owl tended to. 

Eventually Hedwig lifted off Harry’s shoulder and back up into the branches to sleep beside her brother. Harry watched her cuddle next to the ruffled white blob with a fond smile.

They left Privet Drive behind and set out for some place to buy food. Tom thought it best to stretch the meager fund the Aunt gave them as much as possible. Maybe hitting up a convenience store and purchasing things they could store in their room.

Harry insisted they spoil themselves, just this once. He talked Tom into going to a little cafe for sandwiches. They purchased the cheapest things on the menu and sat outside to eat. The sandwiches were delicious, and Tom nearly managed to eat the whole thing even if he felt a bit sick after. They even got a bottled cola to share, something neither boy had tried before. Harry loved it. Tom thought the bubbles of carbonation were bizarre.

After they ate, Tom and Harry ended up visiting the library. It was free and cool inside, and something they’d always enjoyed before Hogwarts. They spent the rest of the day scouring the library for anything and everything about magic. It was mostly muggle fiction, but they managed to find a book or two that could have possibly been written by someone who actually knew about the wizarding world.

They were kicked out when the library closed at six and wound up relocating to a nearby park to spend the rest of the evening. The Aunt had told them not to come back until late, and Tom had no desire to interact with the Uncle anymore than he had to after what happened the day before.

So they just sat on a swing set and chatted about everything and nothing until after the sun went down.

It was perfect.

They eventually returned to Number Four, where the Relatives pretended like they didn’t exist. The Aunt shooed them up to their room and locked the door, though hours later she came back to give them both some leftovers from the family’s dinner. Tom wasn’t able to stomach any of it.

Days passed and Tom felt like he was walking on eggshells. The Uncle acted like nothing had happened, like there weren’t still bruises painting his face, but Tom was terrified of doing something to set him off again.

As the days turned into weeks and nothing changed, he began to relax. His wrist eventually healed and he could use his non-dominant hand once again. The bruises went away and there were no more incidents of accidental magic.

Things were actually going well for once. The Uncle ignored their existence, the Cousin actually left them alone, and the Aunt even snuck he and Harry extra portions of food. They were given more chores than ever before. Tom tried to use the constant work to keep himself from thinking about Quirrell’s neck splitting open like a zipper. It rarely worked.

Instead of helping him to ignore the swirling thoughts, the monotony of repainting the house or polishing silverware only served to let him get lost in agonizing over the consequences of murdering a professor.

Dumbledore hadn’t said anything, though there hadn’t been a moment for the two to be alone either and the headmaster hadn’t seemed keen to talk to him about… all that, in front of the other children. Tom hadn’t exactly been seeking out the man either. He wasn’t sure he felt safe being alone with him. 

Still, Tom had yet to be expelled, or arrested, so maybe there wouldn’t be any consequences for Quirrell’s death.

As if his luck ever held out. No, Tom was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. (Still waiting for when he stopped waking up with a sweat soaked skirt tangled around him, the image of stringy muscle and white bone and brilliant red gushing blood behind his eyelids)

He got used to the new calluses on his hands and the way the clothes the Aunt had bought him went from well fitting to slightly too loose. He stopped looking in mirrors so he wouldn’t have to see the dark shapes under his eyes. He developed a talent for catching short naps to get him through the day and took to mentally deconstructing spells in his mind at night to distract him from his inability to sleep. 

He was  _ fine _ .

Tom ignored the festering bitterness as no letters arrived. Not a single word from Hermione or Ron or Draco or even Hagrid. They’d even sent the owls out with letters, only for the birds to return empty handed. It was like they had never existed at all. Like Hogwarts was some shared hallucination between the two. Like it had all just been a beautiful dream.

Did they know, Tom wondered? They knew Quirrell had died, but he refused to say  _ how _ . Did someone tell them?  _ Do they know I’m a murderer? Is that why they refuse to speak to us now? _

Guilt was eating him alive. It was Tom’s fault that Harry’s face fell every time a post owl failed to show. It was because of him that they had abandoned his brother.  _ Shut up, it’s fine. We don’t need them. _ Tom had Harry, Harry had Tom. That’s all they’d ever needed. Why would a single year at a magic school change that?

Everything was fine.

Then the thirty first of July rolled around, and the Aunt had Tom and Harry cleaning the entire house top to bottom because they were having a very important dinner party with some very important guests from the Uncle’s job and thus everything must be perfect or else.

Their twelfth birthday, and they were spending it washing windows. A year ago this day, Harry and Tom had been taken to Diagon Alley. They’d gotten their first ever taste of magic. It was insulting and soul crushing in equal measures.

Evening came around and Tom and Harry were sent up to their bedroom, the door locked firmly behind them.

“Now stay up here, do not make a sound, and  _ no freakishness. _ ” The Uncle had spat. With that, they were left to their own devices for the night. Tom was fully prepared to spend the next few hours bored out of his mind. Sadly, it was not to be.

No sooner had he heard the front door open and the Relatives greeting their guests, was a loud  _ pop  _ and a strange, thin creature was suddenly standing in the middle of the brother’s room.

Tom flinched back at the sound, his mind going immediately to  _ gunshot  _ before reality caught up with him. The bizarre thing looked just as startled as Tom felt to his violent reaction.

It squeaked loudly, raising its hands up in a placating manner. “Dobby is sorry for startling mister Potter!” It apologized, wide eyed and irritating.

“Er.”

_ So eloquent, Harry. _ Tom wanted to roll his eyes. Instead he kept the creature firmly in his sights. He had no idea what it was or what it was doing in their room. As far as he knew, it was dangerous. “What are you and what are you doing here? And  _ please,  _ for the love of god keep it down.”

The creature clasped its hands over its mouth and nodded, before lowering them again and saying in what was likely  _ meant  _ to be a whisper, “Dobby is being a house elf, sir. Dobby is here to warn you.”

Tom eyed the house elf wearily, keeping half an ear out for the sound downstairs. He did not want to have to deal with the fallout of the Relatives discovering this ‘Dobby’.

“Warn us about what?” Asked Harry.

“It is… difficult to say.. sir. Dobby wonders where to begin…” it (he?) mumbled, twisting at the dirty pillowcase it wore like a dress. 

Tom could practically see Harry’s heart softening toward the pathetic creature. “Why don’t you take a seat?” He offered, gesturing toward the bed.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Dobby began to wail about what a kind and great Wizard Harry was. All well and true, but unfortunately they were on thin fucking ice with the Uncle and Tom didn’t fancy another strangled wrist. Then it was saying something about closing its ears in an oven and abusive masters and Harry was going all soft and pleading and the damn elf was wailing again.

He grabbed the crying elf and covered its mouth with a hand. “Shut  _ up. _ ” He hissed. “Our Relatives are downstairs hosting a party at the moment. If they hear you and come up, it is going to be very bad for  _ all of us. _ Now do you promise to  _ be quiet? _ ”

Tom felt Dobby nod against his hand so he hesitantly released the elf. It stayed true to its word and remained quiet.

“Now,  _ quietly,  _ please tell us what it is you have to warn us about.”

Dobby wrung his (he had called himself a he, so Tom was just going to go with that) hands nervously. “Dobby is here to warn misters Potters that they must not go back to Hogwarts. There is great danger there!”

Tom waited for the elf to say more, but he didn’t. “That’s it? Just ‘there’s great danger’?” Tom snorted. “As if that’s new. Dumbledore accidentally hired the  _ Dark Lord  _ to teach us defense all year.” He tilted his head to the side. “You’re going to have to give us more than that.”

Dobby bit at his fingers. “Dobby cannot. Dobby can’t speak ill of his family…”

Tom pounced on the slip up. “So it’s your family that’s the threat then?”

Dobby’s eyes went wide, but Harry managed to stop him from hurting himself again by grabbing the elf up into his arms and holding him like a living doll. “Please don’t Dobby.” He pleaded.

Tom crouched down in front of the elf, eyes sharp. “You can’t say anything outright, correct?” Dobby nodded. A smile found its way onTom’s face. “But I can ask questions, and you can nod yes or no, also correct?”

Dobby nodded once more, something calculating entering his bulbous green eyes.

“Does the threat have anything to do with the Dark Lord?” Tom asked. Dobby hesitated a moment before slowly shaking his head no. Something was off in his expression, like it wasn’t a clear cut yes/no question. Tom chewed at his lip. “It’s not directly him, but it has something to do with him?” He clarified. The elf nodded.

“Alright. So, if it’s not the wraith, then a follower of his?” Another nod. Well that greatly narrowed down the number of families Dobby could belong to. Still, something about Dobby’s wide eyes said it wasn’t  _ just  _ the death eaters.

“So, the threat isn’t the wraith we fought last year…” another nod, “but it  _ is _ the Dark Lord?” A slower nod this time, hesitant.  _ “How?  _ How is that even possible? He can’t be in two places at once.”

Harry shifted nervously. “He hasn’t got a brother, has he?”

For some reason, that made Tom want to break down in laughter. Dobby just frantically shook his head, eyes wide. 

“So, there is some sort of threat at Hogwarts caused by death eaters. The Dark Lord may or may not be involved. Is this threat specifically targeting Harry and I?”

The elf paused before slowly shaking his head ‘no’ again, ears flopping back and forth. Tom cursed under his breath. So the whole school was at risk then. 

“Please, just tell us what it  _ is  _ and we tell someone, stop it.” Harry pleaded. “We can tell Dumbledore. Protect us  _ and  _ Hogwarts.”

Dobby blinked slowly. “Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it. Dobby has heard that Dumbledore’s power rivals even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But there are some powers that even Dumbledore… that decent wizards should…”

The elf leapt out of Harry’s arms and made toward the window but Tom snatched him up before he could start bashing his skull against the glass. “ _ Stop doing that!”  _ He hissed, holding the elf by the back of his pillowcase. “If you can’t give us more than that, then I see no reason why we should trust you, why we should stay in this hellhole instead of going back to Hogwarts?”

Harry pulled Dobby out of Tom’s grasp and gently set him down on the ground. “Please Dobby. We can’t stay here. All our friends are at Hogwarts. It’s  _ home _ .”

The elf’s expression went sly. “Friends that won’t even  _ write  _ to Harry Potter?” He asked.

Something dark and ugly curled inside Tom. “You  _ didn’t. _ ” He snarled. The elf’s eyes went wide with fear as he jumped back with a soft  _ eep. _ “Mister Henry Potter must not be mad at Dobby. Dobby did it for the best-”

“That’s what they  _ always _ say.” Tom hissed. “ _ It’s for your own good. It’s for the best.  _ Who are you to decide that for us?!” 

Harry grabbed on to Tom, pulling him away from the cowering elf. “Stop it. Tom, stop it.” He glanced back. “Dobby, please just give us the letters.” The elf snapped his fingers and a thick pile of mail suddenly appeared in his hands.

“Yous must promise Dobby you won’t be returning to Hogwarts. Then Dobby will be giving the letters back.” He demanded.

Tom pushed away from Harry, having had  _ enough.  _ Stole their letters, their contact with the outside world, their  _ friends,  _ left them trapped here, left them alone, wanting them to stay in this hell, no,  _ no _ , “How  _ dare  _ you.” He seethed. “Give those back, get out,  _ get out and leave us alone!” _

The letters vanished in a flash, the elf dancing away from Tom’s desperate lunge. “Then you leave Dobby no choice.” The elf said sadly, then bolted toward the door. It unlocked and swung open with a wave of the creature's hand and then the elf was gone. Terror shot through Tom as he chased after.

“No,  _ no. Please.” _

The elf ignored him. He got down the stairs just in time to watch Dobby flout the Aunt’s monstrous pudding to the middle of the kitchen. Tom raced forward to try and catch it, but it went crashing to the ground right in front of him, covering him in whipped cream and glass shards. He couldn’t hear the excuse the Relatives gave their guests over the pounding in his ears. He was only aware of the bite of glass in his hands and being dragged into the other room.

Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours, but eventually the Mason’s left and with them any delay to the consequences of Dobby’s actions. The elf didn’t even have the decency to stay back and watch Tom reap what he had sown.

“How,  _ dare you.”  _ Tom stumbled to the side with the force of the slap to his face. “What were you trying to do, you little monster? Trying to ruin this deal for me? Trying to make us look bad?” Another slap split his lip down the middle. “As if you haven’t ruined our lives enough! I gave you one rule!  _ One!” _

Tom stumbled back from a blow to his chest, the back of his skull connecting hard with the cabinets behind him. “No! Magic!”

Something grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head up. Tom thought he heard the Aunt say something, maybe heard the Cousin whimper. The only thing that was clear was the rushing of blood in his ears and Harry sobbing. His ribs  _ hurt. _

There was a light pressure around Tom’s neck, and he panicked. He flailed away, eyes locking with the Uncle’s and diving  _ through _ .

_ -Freak of nature, monster, beat it out of him, Petunia said if they were scared of magic they couldn’t use it why didn’t it work, can’t have them coming after us too, why do they leave us with these two, protect my family, the things they can do, it not right, kill us in our sleep if they wanted, if they aren’t magic those manics that killed their parents won’t come for them too won’t come for us, seen the way he looks at Dudley at Pet, looks like he would split us open of given half a chance, make him afraid, make him no he can’t hurt us, keep us safe, when did I become my father, this is for the best, I never wanted this, should have left them at an orphanage, psychopath, he scares me, why couldn’t they have just died with their parents- _

Tom ripped himself out of Vernon Dursley’s mind, shaking and panting. Wet tears streaked down his face, his uncle’s hand lax between the junction of his shoulder and neck, holding him up.

“Go to your room.” The man said softly, the anger draining out of him. Tom stumbled away as quickly as he could in case he changed his mind. Harry helped him up the stairs, having to pause every few steps as Tom’s ribs screamed in pain. He thought they might be cracked. The back of his head bled sluggishly, as did his split lip. His vision was spinning and he had a pounding headache. Maybe concussed?

Vernon had never hit him that hard before.

The Aunt followed behind them. Gave them a frozen bag of peas and a few pills of pain killer before locking the door behind her. Tom swallowed the medicine dry and held the cold bag against his side. He didn’t manage to sleep at all that night, just lay beside Harry on their shared bed, shaking.

* * *

The Relatives kept them locked in their room at all times after that. The Uncle added another lock to the door and installed a cat flap to the bottom so they could deliver small meals three times a day. Tom barely managed to touch his portions. More for Harry at least. They were let out twice a day to use the restroom. The rest of the time, the door was locked tight.

It seemed Dobby was getting his wish. The Relatives had no intention of letting them go back to Hogwarts. Tom tried to ignore what he had seen in the Uncle’s mind. The overpowering fear, the guilt. The confusion and disgust toward magic, the genuine belief that what he did was justified.

Tom had never wanted so badly to set Number Four on fire.

The split in his lip healed nearly overnight. His ribs however, did not. They still ached at all times and left him gasping for breath at any sudden movement days later. There was nasty bruising over the lower left on his ribcage that made even moving that arm painful. Tom tried to heal it with wandless magic several times, but froze up every time he tried to force out the incantation, unable to get the words out.

He was tired of being so afraid.

There wasn’t much Tom could do with his side in the state it was. He had to wait to heal, then get them out of this mess. They’d leave. Break out, kill the Dursleys, leave this place behind forever. Dumbledore would probably find them, send them somewhere else, but Tom was done caring.

Anywhere was better than this.

_ Are you sure,  _ whispered the memories of Before.  _ Are you  _ **_certain_ ** ? Tom tasted dust between his teeth, ashes choking his lungs. There was blood under his nails and a brick clenched in his hand.  _ Are you sure? _

He forced the memories out of his mind. It didn’t stop him from dreaming of the shell of a building, a skull cracked open like an egg, bleeding feet as he wandered an empty hell alone.

He woke to the rapping of glass. Harry jolted awake beside him. They looked as one toward their barred window, Ron Weasley’s bright red hair shining like a beacon in the moonlight. Tom blinked, half sure he was still dreaming.  _ What the ‘ell? _

Whether because it was the middle of the night or because of the absurdity of the situation, the next twenty minutes went by as more or less of a blurr.

There was a flying car, a daring jailbreak, the Weasley twins screaming and laughing. At one point they broke  _ into  _ the attic to steal out Tom and Harry’s school things using an actual muggle lock pick set. The Uncle came roaring up the stairs, screaming and cursing, but it was too late. The shiny blue car was disappearing off into the night, a pair of white owls trailing behind them.

Tom sat, shaky and giddy in the back seat. They were out, they were  _ out. _ Hysterical laughter bubbled up against his will. Ron sent him a concerned look, but Tom didn’t care. He was so relieved he could kiss the redhead. Tom didn’t think Ron would appreciate that much.

“How’d you know to come for us?” Harry asked. 

“Your owls showed up yesterday, wouldn’t leave us alone. Kept screeching and pecking at me.” Ron explained. “We thought something was up when you guys never answered my letters, and then those two showed up acting that way? I knew something was wrong.”

“Ronny spent all day trying to talk mum into doing something. She seemed sure that you two were fine though,” explained one of the twins from the front, twisting around to face them. “Something about Dumbledore saying you were perfectly safe.” His expression darkened. “ _ Clearly  _ he was right, yeah?”

The twin driving gave a snort. “I take it bars on the second story window isn't just a muggle thing, right?”

“Not to mention your trunks locked up like that. Seems a bit suspicious, it does.” Added the other with a pointed look at Harry and Tom.

Harry bit his lip, glancing between the three redheads. Tom unconsciously pressed a hand against his injured side, lips thinning. “There was an… incident, three days ago.” He admitted. “Some creature called a house elf showed up in our room while the Relatives were having guests over. Said he was there to warn us, that there was some plot to kill us at Hogwarts, but didn’t give us much more information than that.”

Ron’s eyebrows went up to his hairline. “A house elf, really? Only really wealthy families have those. I wonder who was trying to warn you?”

“It seemed like he was doing it against his family’s will.” Said Harry. “He kept hurting himself, said they didn’t know he was there.”

“Blimey.”

“He belongs to a former death eater. I was able to figure out that much. Whoever they are, they’re behind the danger he was warning us against.” Tom sighed. “He got me in trouble by making it look like I did magic when we refused to stay away from Hogwarts. He’s also the one that had been stealing the letters you sent us.”

The twin in the passenger seat (Tom thought it might be Fred) blinked at him. “House elves aren’t supposed to do things like that. That’s really weird, mate. You sure he wasn’t doing all that under orders?”

“Pretty sure.” Tom bit at his thumb. “Not unless it was all some convoluted plan to get us in trouble, but I’m not sure how anyone would have known the Dursleys would have locked us up like that.” Except maybe Dumbledore. But Tom could think of no reason for him to not want them at Hogwarts. No, the only thing that made sense was that Dobby was acting of his own volition, at least based on the information Tom had.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Asked Harry.

“The Burrow!” Cheered the twins.

“Our house.” Elaborated Ron. “You’ll be spending the rest of the summer with us.” He added with a grin.

“It’ll be  _ great _ ! Of course mum and dad have no idea, but there’s no way they’ll send you back. Be prepared to hear a lot of yelling, though. They’re not going to be happy when they find out we borrowed the car.  _ If _ they find out.” said the twin in the passenger's seat. He glanced at something on the dashboard. “Oh, you’re driving too far west, Fred.”

Fred nodded and adjusted the car while George turned back toward the backseat. 

“How’d you even get a flying car anyway?” Asked Harry.

“Dad built it. He works at the Ministry. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Has a bit of an obsession, he does.” Said George.

Fred laughed. “Our shed back home is  _ full  _ of stuff. Dad likes to take muggle things apart and enchant them, then put them back together. Drives Mum up the wall.”

A few minutes later they arrived at the Burrow, a towering, cobbled together house only standing upright out of Magic and spite. The car touched down with a jolt and the five boys tumbled out just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky.

“It’s not much.” Ron said with a blush.

“It’s  _ brilliant _ .” Harry assured, meaning every word of it.

Fred and George grabbed the two trunks out of the back of the car, talking as they went. “Now you two sneak up to Ron’s room with him. Tomorrow Ron will come down and tell Mum you showed up in the middle of the night. That way no one will know we took the car.”

Before Tom could point out the holes in the plan, a woman who could only be Mrs Weasley herself came marching out the front door toward them, looking ready to spit fire. She tore into the twins and Ron, yelling her head off about how worried she’d been and how they could have died, how they could have lost their father his job. The loud voices made Tom cringe back and curl in on himself. Harry had gone pale, wrapping an arm around him for comfort.

“As lovely as this has been, you’re scaring Tom, Mum.” George interrupted, not looking chastised at all. Mrs Weasley made to yell at her sons again but deflated when she noticed Harry and Tom. The holy rage went out of her like a blown candle, leaving someone soft in her place. She gave them a kind smile. “I’m sorry for yelling, boys.” She said. “You’re not in trouble.”

Tom flinched away when she made to hug them, causing the woman’s soft expression to taint with worry. Her lips thinned and she glanced back at her sons. “I’ll deal with you later.” She promised. “Now, come in and get some breakfast. Fred, George, bring those trunks up to Ron’s room, will you?”

She led them into the home, which was just as thrown together and chaotic as the outside, but equally as charming. Tom found himself greatly preferring it over the stark cleanliness of Number Four. There was something strangely comforting about the oddness of the Burrow. Something lived in and welcoming.  _ It’s a home, _ he realized.  _ It actually feels like a place where a real family lives, someplace where people love each other.  _ It was… nice. Chaotic but nice.

Mrs Weasley made them all a heavy breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, and fried potatoes. Tom picked at his eggs and took a few bites of toast, avoiding the greasy sausage and potatoes entirely. Harry ate slowly and carefully beside him but managed to clear most of his own plate.

Mrs Weasley looked concerned at how little the boys ate. “Tom dear, aren’t you going to eat the rest of that?” She asked when he set his fork down beside a full plate.

Tom grimaced. “I can’t. It’ll make me sick.”

Mrs Weasley looked even more concerned but was stopped from saying anything by the appearance and then disappearance of a small red haired girl.

“Ginny.” Explained Ron under his breath. “My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.” He told Harry.

“She’ll be wanting your autograph.” Teased Fred, making Harry blush.

After breakfast the boys were shooed into the backyard to get rid of garden gnomes, shriveled leathery things that looked like old potatoes with arms and legs. Harry had great fun tossing them as far as he could with the Weasleys while Tom just sat and watched. 

Mr Weasley arrived after, exhausted and dusty, saying something or other about a Ministry raid. That piqued Tom’s interest, but the subject was quickly changed by Mrs Weasley getting onto her husband and sons both for the flying car. Tom did notice she took care not to raise her voice around him and Harry.

Ron invited them up to his bedroom, which was a hurricane of bright orange and quidditch and made Tom’s eyes burn. Harry, of course, loved it. Tom thought he’d rather sleep with the ghoul in the attic.

It was still leagues better than the Dursley’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m going just keep this all as one thing. I figured it’ll be easier than splitting it all up, even if this fic ends up being ridiculously long.  
> Who, Year Two here we come! I’m sorry to start it with such a downer of a chapter. Hopefully Tom and Harry’s day to themselves and the Weasley rescue helped to alleviate the angst a bit. I definitely want to explore why the Dursley’s are like they are more in later chapters. This chapter is more an exploration of what abuse does to a person, and the inability to fight back. It was definitely upsetting and cathartic in equal measures to write.  
> Now, I personally subscribe to the ‘Horcrux made the Dursley’s much worse than they would have been otherwise’ theory, which is reflected in this story. They had ten years of near constant close contact with not only Harry’s Horcux, but also Tom as well. While Tom isn’t a Horcrux himself, he isn’t exactly whole either, and gives off a similar corruptive aura that a horcrux does. Not to mention, he’s a living persona with only part of a soul. He naturally sets off a sort of ‘uncanny valley’ sense in people. They can feel that there’s something wrong with him, they just can’t put their finger on what. Around Hogwarts there’s so much ambient magic that it sort of overpowers those feelings, but outside that, especially in a place like Privet Drive, it’s overwhelming.   
> Also, I didn’t bother with the Ministry warning given in canon. 1) the trace only tracks wands. Doesn’t make sense for Dobby to have triggered it unless he somehow imitated the use of a wand. 2) didn’t need the warning in order to alert the Weasley’s because Hedwig and Naohman are good bros. 3) surely Petunia would have remembered that students aren’t allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts from when Lily was in school. It shouldn’t be new information to the Dursley’s.  
> Next chapter is going to be much nicer with the trip to Diagon and Tom’s utter disdain for Lockhart.


	13. The Edge in Your Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A threat in the air unseen
> 
> Or
> 
> Gilderoy Lockhart might be more cunning then he looks. It doesn’t make him any less obnoxious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for eating disorder, panic attacks, some memory loss/disassociation, and a pixie gets exploded. Pretty tame compared to last chapter.

* * *

* * *

  
Life with the Weasley’s was… oddly peaceful. Not in a calm way, by any means. It was hectic and crazy, fully of loud crashes and bustling people and bright laughter and the twins setting off explosions in their room. No, it was peaceful in the way that everyone seemed to actually like one another, that there was no discord or hostility. There was arguing and jibes and teasing, but it was all done with smiles. 

Mrs Weasley made sure Harry and Tom ate their fill, even if it wasn’t much. She was always careful to move slowly and deliberately around Tom after the second morning when instinctually he cowered away from her waving a frying pan in mock threat at the twins. Mrs Weasley had looked struck when she noticed his frightened expression, a flash of righteous anger making Tom panic before it smoothed out into something kind. She’d dropped the pan and went marching off in search of the family owl without another word. Tom was dreading when the woman would finally bring out his… jumpiness, but she never did.

Still, he could tell his behavior was eating at her. Tom appreciated the lack of questions. He didn’t think he’d be able to answer them, if she ever did ask.

Their Hogwarts letters arrived at breakfast a week after Ron and the twins rescued them from the Dursleys. Tom read over his new texts, confused by the list added for Defense. “Who the bloody hell is Gilderoy Lockhart?” He muttered under his breath.

Fred, sitting beside him, leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “He’s written loads of books about his ‘adventures’. Mum loves him. Don’t know why they’re required reading for Defense, though. Maybe the new Professor is a fan.” He snickered.

“Probably a witch, then.” Added George from across the table. “This lot won’t come cheap. Lockhart’s books are expensive. Not really fair, is it, making everyone buy them?”

Tom’s lips thinned. With titles like _Break with a Banshee,_ he wasn’t too hopeful for the books to be of much use except maybe kindling. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt until he managed to get his hands on one and skim through, but if they ended up being as useless as they sounded, Tom had no intention of wasting his money.

After breakfast they boys all trooped out to the backyard to play a game of quidditch, Tom dragged along against his will. He made a larger fuss about it than he really felt. The twins tried to convince him to get on a broom but they soon learned Tom was even more bullheaded than Harry when he wanted to be. He did take great delight in throwing apples at them later, though. The twins took it all in good grace.

The next week passed in a blur of wizards games, quidditch, and good food. Tom was even starting to gain back a bit of the weight he’d lost.

Wednesday rolled around and the chaos of the household came to a climax as everyone got ready for school shopping. Eventually Mrs Weasley managed to bring some semblance of order to the group and one by one they flooed into Diagon Alley. They met up with Hermoine and her parents outside of Gringotts and as a group entered the bank, Mr Weasley accosting the poor Grangers with questions as they went.

Money was collected and soon enough the large party split off into smaller groups to go about their business, Tom being pulled into this and that store by an excited Harry with Ron and Hermione in tow. They spent nearly half an hour browsing a quidditch supply store before Hermione rescued him by insisting they go purchase new ink and parchment. Tom got himself another notebook, his one from last year having quickly filled up. 

Tom snuck a pamphlet from the apothecary with information about owl ordered ingredients, an idea forming in his mind. Surely there’d be a market for students wanting potions away from the professors' notice. Definitely something to consider.

Eventually they went to Flourish _and Blotts_ to meet up with the others and purchase the ridiculous school books. It took a while to shoulder inside of the store, however, given the massive crowd gathered around. Evidently, Gilderoy Lockhart himself was there doing a signing.

Tom pushed through the throng of mostly middle aged witches and toward the stand where Lockhart’s books were being displayed. He picked up a copy of _Weekend with Werewolves_ and skimmed through it, only to put the book back down a moment later with a look of disgust. Complete rubbish.

“Don’t bother,” he told Harry who’d stepped up beside him and was peering at the books with curiosity, “there’s nothing of use written in there. I’ll help you lot find some books that will actually teach you something.”

Hermione looked scandalized, while Ron and Harry looked relieved. Tom browsed through the shelf of defensive magic texts, eyes keen for anything he recognized as second year material. In the end he found two books of note. One, _a Beginner’s Guide to Defensive Magic_ , covered most of the practical side of the spells and their counter curses. It focused mostly on second and third year material, though there were a few first year spells as well. 

The second book, _Foundations: Deconstructing Spellwork,_ focused on the theoretical in a clear and easy to understand way. It covered a whole range of subjects but did have a good portion on defensive magic. 

Tom handed the books over to Hermione for her approval, which she begrudgingly gave, though not without insisting they get Lockhart’s books as well. As if.

“Honestly Hermione, have you read the books? They aren’t written like study guides, they’re written like _novels_. All well and good for entertainment, but not for teaching. Either our new Defense Professor is a fan, or they somehow get a share out of the book’s sales. That’s the only explanation for why they would be on our booklist.”

Hermione floundered. “Yes, but, they’re the books we were told to get. We can’t just… _not._ ”

Tom shrugged. “Do what you like. I’m not wasting my money.”

Hermione looked ready to argue. Unfortunately, that was the moment they were noticed by one Gilderoy Lockhart. The man swept in like a living Ken doll, plastic and fake and too good looking to be real. Even his smile looked like it was painted on. 

“My goodness, Harry Potter!” He gasped, zeroing in on Harry like something starved. Beneath the pomp and flair, there was something predatory about Lockhart. Not dangerous, barely even a threat, but a cunning hunger that made Tom’s skin crawl.

Whoever this man was, Tom did not like him one bit. He liked him even less when Lockhart grabbed Harry by the arm and tried to drag him toward his signing table.

A crushing grip on the man’s wrist stopped him in his tracks.

“I’d appreciate it if you let go of my brother.” Tom said with a smile to rival Lockhart’s, enjoying the way the man winced as he squeezed. He felt the eyes of everyone in the room on the three of them, but honestly couldn’t bring himself to care. Tom knew exactly what kind of person Lockhart was, and he had no intention of allowing Harry to be taken advantage of.

Hesitantly, Harry was released. Tom kept hold of Lockhart’s wrist, his sickly sweet smile firmly in place. “Thank you.”

“Right, you must be Henry then.” Lockhart tried, his grin more strained than dazzling. “Twin brother of the famed Boy-Who-Lived.”

“I am.” Tom said. “And it’s for that exact reason I don’t particularly like complete strangers walking up and manhandling my brother. There are plenty of people out there who would just love to change the ‘Lived’ part of that little nickname to dead, if given half the chance.” Finally, he let go of Lockhart’s wrist. 

“Yes, yes of course. My apologies.” Lockhart brushed out his robes, giving Tom a dazzling smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Tom had to give the man some credit, he actually recovered fairly well. “I am Gilderoy Lockhart, world famous adventurer, slayer of dark creatures, and soon to be Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at none other than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Ah, well that explained some things. The crowd gasped and awed like this was some breaking news. 

“I’d like to give the both of you the full collection of my books, signed and free of charge!” Lockhart said with a brilliant smile. 

“Oh, that’s incredibly generous of you.” Tom replied, smile just as fake, eyes just as calculating. 

Lockhart waved him off. “Oh, it’s nothing! Have to make sure the two of you are prepared for class, of course. Though, I doubt you much need it, do you Harry?”

Harry just looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“Now, a quick photo for the Prophet with the two of you!” Lockhart said brightly, putting one hand on Tom’s should, the other on Harry’s the man’s idiotic face grinning between them. A camera flashed before Tom could force the man off them.

He grabbed Harry and retreated as soon as he could, though not before Lockhart shoved a massive pile of books at the two.

“I thought you said those books were rubbish.” Hermione said as soon as they escaped Lockhart’s clutches.

Tom made a face at her. “Didn’t really have much of a choice, he practically threw them at me.” He snapped irritably. He paused, glancing at the pile of books in his arms. “I could probably sell these for a fair bit, though.” He mused.

“Tom!”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Well, that was really something, wasn’t it?” Drawled a familiar voice. Tom wasn’t sure to be grateful or annoyed at Draco’s timely arrival. “You two can’t even go to a bookshop without making a mess, can you?”

Definitely annoyed.

“Not really our fault.” Harry pointed out. “Lockhart’s the one that ambushed us.” He turned to Tom. “Here, let me take some of those.” 

Tom grumbled, but let Harry take half the stack of useless books. He wouldn’t admit it, but his arms were beginning to hurt.

“So how was your summer?” Draco asked, making Harry and Tom both blanche. 

“Fine.” Mumbled Harry.

“Me and Fred and George had to rescue them from their muggle relatives.” Said Ron. “There were bars on the window and everything.” 

“ _Ron!”_ Hissed Harry. Tom just felt a bit nauseous. His ribs twinged.

Draco looked at them in shock. “What? Really?” He looked caught somewhere between anger and confusion. “They had you locked up? Those _vermin._ ”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “They’re not… not vermin. They’re just awful people.” Draco had gotten better over the last year, but his anti-muggle sentiments still make Harry uneasy. Still, he wasn’t about to defend the Dursley’s either. Even Harry had his limits, and their Relatives had passed it.

He was right though, they were still people. Horrible people, but people all the same. Somehow that made it worse.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Tom said, unconsciously shifting to protect his side. He looked at Draco, trying to ignore the concerned look the boy shot at him. “How was your summer then?”

Draco’s lips thinned. “Interesting.” He admitted without humor. “The Ministry’s been conducting raids lately. It’s made Father… a bit on edge.”

Ron snorted. “I bet. Your house is probably _crawling_ with dark artifacts.” The jibe didn’t have the anger it would have just a few months ago.

“I’ll have you know all of those ‘dark artifacts’ are very old family heirlooms that simply happen to be classified as dark. We’re not the Blacks, Father isn’t about to keep anything _evil_ in the house.” 

“Does it really make a difference?” Ron challenged.

“Of course it does! There’s a big difference between something that’s dark and something that is designed to hurt people.”

Ron, oddly, didn’t argue against that. “Yeah, but I don’t think the Ministry cares much either way. They’ll both get your family in trouble.” He glanced over and the tease went out of his smile. “Hey, Ginny, over here!”

Soon enough they were joined by Ron’s little sister doing her best to hide behind her cauldron. She eyed Draco wearily. Draco in turn just stared awkwardly back. Tom was slowly coming to the realization that he had absolutely no idea how to interact with people outside of pureblood society. The boy switched between arse-kissing and insults with very little in between. It was actually quite pathetic.

“Gin, this is Draco Malfoy. He’s actually not as big a prat as he looks-”

“ _Hey_!”

“-and he helped us out with that whole… _thing_ last year. So yeah, he’s not totally awful.” Ron said with a grin, entirely ignoring Draco’s glare.

Ginny, as she had during the entirety of Harry and Tom’s stay at the Burrow, remained silent. She shuffled behind Ron when Draco tried smiling at her, cauldron held in front of her like a shield. 

A strange tingling sensation down Tom’s spine distracted him from Ginny and Draco’s riveting staring contest. He glanced around the bookshop, trying to figure out why it felt like there was ice water dripping down his back. 

“Draco, is that your father?” He asked, eyes glued to the tall blond figure who’d just stepped into the store. His unease grew as Lucius Malfoy got closer.

Draco went pale beside him. “Oh no.” His eyes flicked from his father, over to the cluster of redheads who’d just noticed his arrival. “This is not going to end well.” He mumbled.

Intrigued, Tom decided to get closer. The others of course followed behind, Draco looking like he’d like to be anywhere else. They joined the adults just in time to hear Lord Malfoy’s scathing greeting to Mr Weasley. The tension between the two men was palatable. Seems there's some sort of bad blood there, Tom thought.

Things escalated quickly after that.

Lucius terrorized shy little Ginny, insulted the Weasley’s money situation, and ended up getting punched in the face. It was all very entertaining.

“I’m really sorry about all that.” Draco mumbled, looking like his father wasn’t the only one who’d been hit in the face. 

“Are you kidding, that was brilliant!” Ron grinned. 

Draco looked like he couldn’t decide if he should be relieved or offended. He hadn’t made his choice yet when his father called for him, barely restrained fury in his voice. Draco’s expression went blank, his shoulders tensing up. “I should go.” 

“See you at Hogwarts!” Hermione called out as he was dragged out of the bookshop by his seething father.

“That was fun.” Tom deadpanned. Hermione glared and smacked his shoulder. Harry just laughed.

They left Diagon Alley shortly afterward, having practically been thrown out of _Flourish and Blotts_. Strangely, the unease Tom had felt since the arrival of Malfoy hadn’t left. His eyes kept being drawn toward unassuming little Ginny Weasley, the dread growing every time he glanced at her.

But every time he looked away, he forgot why he felt so on edge in the first place.

* * *

The last week at the Weasley’s home went by in a blur. Mrs Weasley kept at her goal to get Harry and Tom up to a healthy weight without much luck. The children, sans Tom, continued their daily quidditch games. The twins even managed to egg Ginny up onto a broom. The girl’s shyness completely disappeared as soon as she was in the air. Instead, she turned into an absolute terror who flew circles around all the boys. It was incredibly entertaining to watch.

Tom had been hoping to sneak off to Knockturn Alley to sell the little knick-knacks he’d picked up over his first year, but never found the chance to slip out unnoticed. During the day wasn’t really an option, and sleeping in the same bed as Harry had its downsides.

At least as long as they were with the Weasleys they wouldn’t have to worry about withheld food. But even with the abundance at mealtimes, Tom’s appetite didn’t return. Instead, it got worse.

Ever since they’d gotten back from Diagon Alley, Tom felt a nagging unease in the back of his head. He could never place it, barely succeeded in ignoring it. He half wondered if it might have something to do with the house elf’s warning. Whatever it was, it kept him awake late into the night.

The final night at the Burrow ended in a massive dinner and a booming show of fireworks courtesy of Fred and George that left Tom struggling for breath and shaking. No one noticed, but given he’d hidden himself in a secluded corner of the house away from everyone else, he couldn’t really blame them. Tom didn’t particularly want anyone discovering him curled into a ball and sobbing anyway.

The next day his eyes were painted with dark spots thanks to a night of dreaming of bombs and rubble. He felt dragged along and ignored in the chaos of getting ready for another year at Hogwarts. The frantic energy helped to banish the lingering taste of fear, and soon enough Tom was squeezed into the backseat of the Weasley’s flying car and on his way to King’s Cross.

The drive there was hectic and tense, the minutes ticking down before the train was to leave with or without them. It didn’t help that they’d had to turn back several times for forgotten things. Finally, finally, they made it to the station and were soon running one after the other through the barrier between muggle and magical worlds.

Tom shooed Harry and Ron on after the other Weasley’s only for the two to go crashing back after hitting a solid brick wall. They were trapped, trapped on the wrong side of the barrier with the train leaving any second and with them the chance to go to Hogwarts, Ron’s parents stuck on the other side.

All three boys began to panic just a bit.

Then Ron suggested flying the magic car all the way to Scotland, which did a sufficient job of knocking Tom out of his spiraling thoughts.

“No, _absolutely not!_ Are you daft?” He screeched. “We are not flying that bloody car. We are going to go out and sit beside it, and wait for your parents. There are dozens of competent, adult wizards on the other side of the wall. They won’t be trapped there.” Tom glanced at the bricks, then at the swarm of muggles around them. “Not to mention this can’t be the only way into platform 9 ¾. Honestly, can you imagine someone like Lucius Malfoy willingly walking through muggle London?”

Harry and Ron were forced to admit that Tom had a point, and so the three boys and two very displeased owls found themselves sitting beside a bright blue Ford Angela until Mr and Mrs Weasley reappeared thirty minutes later.

Tom explained in a dull voice how something had happened to the barrier and that they couldn’t get through. Evidently, neither had the adults. The wall had become solid on both sides, and no one had been able to get it to open again no matter what spell they tried. It wasn’t until half an hour after the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station that the barrier reopened all on its own. 

“Someone doesn’t want us at Hogwarts.” Tom realized, thinking back to bulbous eyes and a vague warning. The Weasley’s tried to refute that, but they didn’t have much of an argument.

In the end, the boys and their trunks were loaded back into the car and the five of them flew back to the Burrow where Mrs Weasley made an emergency floo call to Hogwarts. She came back to tell them that they would spend the rest of the day at the Burrow, and a Professor would be over sometime that night to bring them to the castle via floo in time for the welcoming feast.

In the end, it proved a much better idea than trying to steal a flying car. At least until Albus Dumbledore himself stepped through the Weasley’s fireplace to take them to Hogwarts. Tom felt his skin crawl as those knowing blue eyes stared into him, that damn indulgent smile making him want to scream.

The adult Weasley’s greeting the headmaster with awe and respect only made things worse, though there was a tenseness with Mrs Weasley that he couldn’t ignore. The red headed matron’s eyes were narrowed and she kept glancing between Dumbledore and the too thin Potter boys, something accusing in her gaze. She refrained from saying anything in front of the children though.

Soon enough they were stepping through the swirl of green flames and into the headmaster’s office, trunks in hand. Fawkes the phoenix trilled a greeting from his perch.

“Lollie.” Dumbledore called out. There was an answering _pop_ and suddenly a cleaner, slimmer, and nicer dressed version of Dobby appeared in front of the old man.

“How can Lollie be of service, Mister Headmaster?” Asked the elf.

Dumbledore smiled down at the elf, eyes twinkling. “Please take the boys' trunks and deliver them to their dorms, if you would Lollie. Thank you very much.”

Lollie nodded and with a snap the trunks vanished, the elf itself following suit after.

Dumbledore led them down to the great hall just as the other students arrived. The three boys were immediately swarmed by a hoard of concerned Gryffindors, Percy Weasley fretting over his brother being left behind while Fred and George made light of the whole situation. 

Tom and Harry went their separate ways and then the Sorting began. Tom clapped politely every time the Slytherin ranks grew as was expected of him but didn’t bother to get involved past that. He really didn’t care, and didn’t have the energy to pretend to. He felt some vague interest when little Ginny Weasley wound up in Gryffindor, blushing scarlet as her tie from the uproarious cheers of her brothers (mostly the twins). The Sorting over, the feast was served and Tom’s yearmates found themselves too distracted with stuffing their faces to talk. The peace didn’t last long.

“I didn’t see you and Harry on the train.” Draco accused. “I had to sit with Granger _alone_. It was miserable. All she wanted to talk about was schoolwork.”

Tom grimaced. “Something happened with the barrier to Platform 9 ¾. We couldn’t get through it before the train left. Me, Harry and Ron were trapped on the other side. Dumbledore came by the Weasley’s to bring us here.”

“That is _bizarre_.” Parkinson said, nose wrinkling.

Draco nodded. “I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before.”

“It seems someone didn’t want me and Harry coming to Hogwarts this year. Earlier this summer we had a… very cryptic warning given to us by a rogue house elf. Something about some great danger.”

His yearmates went pale. “Great danger?” Someone squeaked. Tom wasn’t really paying attention.

“According to the elf.” He said with a shrug, picking at his food. “He didn’t seem all that there, so I’m not sure how much stock to put into his warning.”

That didn’t seem to mollify the other Slytherin’s much. Only Draco didn’t look shocked that Hogwarts could ever be anything but safe.

“ _Please_ don’t turn this into a repeat of last year. I don’t want to deal with anymore three headed dogs.” He pleaded.

Tom laughed humorlessly. “I don’t think that’s up to me.”

* * *

Tom’s second year at Hogwarts began with a whimper rather than a bang. His first class, was _of bloody course_ , History of Magic. Tom was still no closer to finding a way to get rid of Binns, something that irritated him _immensely._

Transfiguration and Charms afterward were painfully easy, as they always were. McGonagal and Flitwick praised him for his talent and awarded points to Slytherin, making the boredom worth it. As simple as the spells felt to him, Tom could never get enough of hearing his Professor’s praise.

Herbology introduced mandrakes, which were loud and obnoxious little things that Tom was looking forward to never having to touch again. He may have accidentally (completely on purpose) drained the life out of his screaming root vegetable out of spite. Professor Sprout was equal parts horrified and fascinated by Tom’s suddenly deceased mandrake. _Tragically_ , there were no extra wailing potatoes for him to replant so Tom was exempt from the rest of the lessons.

He regretted nothing.

Lockhart, it turned out, was even more obnoxious than the mandrakes. Tom didn’t know how it was possible, but somehow the man committed the heinous crimes of not only being loud and annoying, but dangerously incompetent to boot. 

Defense was an utter nightmare.

First there was Lockhart’s joke of a quiz. Tom had taken great joy in writing out increasingly scathing answers to the ridiculous questions, insulting everything from Lockhart’s hair - _trying too hard, it doesn’t even look natural. Honestly, there needs to be some mess or else it just looks like a wig-_ to his clothing _-eye catching sure, if you want a target painted right on you. What moron goes around claiming to be a feared duelist dressed like that? You're basically asking to be cursed-_

He’d even gotten a few jabs in about his mother. All in all, Tom was rather pleased with himself.

Then of course he ended up spending the rest of the class heading beneath a desk beside Harry, setting pixies on fire whenever they got too close. He’d finally had enough when a pixie managed to get past him and started pulling at his hair. With a snarl, Tom waved his wand and popped the offending creature like a grape. He then stood and cast rapid fire stunners around the room. Soon enough all the pixies were frozen on the ground and the remainder of the class was spent picking them up and shoving back into their cage. Everyone kept a wide berth around the red stain on the ground that had once been the hair-thief. 

Tom stayed behind after class was over. Once the other second years had trickled out and only he and Lockhart remained, Tom turned to the man with death in his eyes.

“You’re a moron, aren’t you?” He started. Lockhart gasped at him. He made to say something, but Tom cut him off before the words could leave his mouth. “I doubt you did any of the things you claimed to have done in those books of yours. Not after the performance today. This class is shaping up to be just as useless as it was last year, if not more so. That is unacceptable.”

“Mister Potter, I assure you I am more than qualified for the position.” Lockhart gave a nervous laugh. “I do believe class went splendidly, and I truly have no idea what you’re talking about-”

“Please shut up.” Lockhart’s mouth closed with a click. Tom grinned at him. It wasn’t one of his nice smiles. “Now, I have a proposition for you, Professor. I frankly have no need for this class. I could probably take my O.W.L.s here and now and pass with an O. However, I find the idea of leaving my fellow students to flounder… distasteful. So, I will write you up appropriate lesson plans and allow you to take credit for them, and in return you will pretend to be a competent teacher and ensure that the next generation of magicals isn’t completely doomed. How does that sound?”

Several emotions flickered across Lockhart’s face before finally settling on weary intrigue, his eyes bright with a cunningness that made Tom wonder if the man was in Slytherin. “I do believe, mister Potter, that this is the start to a very _beneficial_ relationship, if I do say so myself.”

Tom’s grin was sharp enough to slit Lockhart’s throat if he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain isn’t working today. Could barely even edit :P I’ll finish the header later.  
> Again, thank you guys so much for the reviews. If I had a working printer I’d probably print them all about and scrapbook them or something. Even when I don’t reply, know that ever single comment I get makes me produce a noise only heard by dogs and small children. They are each and every one a delight.  
> Next week: the Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch teams try to murder each other, there are voices in the walls, and Tom could really use a fucking nap.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://ezra-millers-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) or check out my [fandom artblog](https://carlistyl.tumblr.com/)


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